


Sip of Sunshine

by Contesa_lui_Alucard



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: F/M, Female Ejaculation, Light Dom/sub, No Pregnancy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Squirting, Unprotected Sex, mentions of children, mentions of wanting children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 99,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contesa_lui_Alucard/pseuds/Contesa_lui_Alucard
Summary: Drained from a stressful life in New York City, you decide to open up a small café in Boone County, West Virginia. Sip of Sunshine has been open for a year now and is seeing much success, but something is still missing. That is, until that something in the form of the sweetest, most handsome gentleman you’ve ever met, Clyde Logan, walks through the front door of your café late one August morning. Clyde Logan x Reader
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 278
Kudos: 620





	1. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once he has settled in you bring over the coffee and gently place it down in front of him, he nods and thanks you before you disappear behind the counter again to fix him a pastry. Out of the corner of your eye you see him stealing glances over at you while you bustle around and it gives you butterflies, could he be interested in you? The thought excites you, so in a move you’re hoping will sweeten him up to you, you fill a plate for him with a little bit of everything that you have left: a croissant, a bran muffin, two oatmeal cookies, and a peach turnover for a touch of sweetness.  
> You come back out from behind the counter, plate in hand, and place it in front of him. His eyes go wide at the sight, and immediately dart up to yours, but before he can say anything you interrupt, “Now listen, if you’re going to make a fair judgement of my pastry making skills, you have to try a little bit of everything.” You finish with a smile, taking a step back so as not to crowd him any more than he already is, folded over the tiny table. His jaw works before he swallows, and finally nods, looking back down at the overflowing plate. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

It’s going to be another scorcher of an August day here in Boone County, West Virginia, you can already tell. It’s only 4:30am when you unlock the front door to Sip of Sunshine, but already you feel sweat beading on your forehead. Thank goodness for air conditioning. The place is small, so it doesn’t take long for the AC to cool it off, and as it is you have a lot to do before the morning rush comes in so there’s no time to dwell on the heat. The muffins, croissants, biscuits, cookies, and other pastries you had prepared the day before all get shucked into the industrial sized ovens to bake. Next the coffee machines all get loaded up with fresh beans, and are set to start brewing. The espresso maker is prepped, the milks are all checked for freshness, and half an hour later you’re unloading the ovens and spreading all of the fresh baked goods onto large trays, sliding them into the small display case you use as a countertop.

Sip of Sunshine has been in business for about a year now, and it finally seems to have found its steady fan base. At first, the residents of Boone County didn’t know what to think of the little café, being owned and operated by a girl from the big ol’ city of New York and all, some kind of Wall Street type she was, before her job sent her down here. What’s she know about coffee and pastries? Don’t those city folk only drink Starbucks? You’d heard it all. Yes, you were a girl from New York City, that was true. And yes, you had been a… “Wall Street type”, you had been in finance, and yes, your job had sent you down here to facilitate a deal with Merrill Lynch. Your company had decided that you would spend the year living in West Virginia, ensuring the deal went through and that all of the proper arrangements were made. They put you up in a quaint rental home outside of Charlotte, and there you stayed until, one extremely stressful year later, the deal was sealed, and that same day you quit. It had been a very high paying job, you had a decent savings, and things in West Virginia were certainly cheaper than the extremely overpriced living you’d known in New York, so you used the money to buy a small ranch style house and a shoebox of a storefront in Madison. You missed your life in the city, your friends and your family, but your previous job had been incredibly stressful and consuming. This change of pace was much needed, you wanted some time to yourself, in a place where things moved at a quarter of the speed you’d become so used to, in a profession that made you excited to wake up in the morning again. 

Monday through Friday at 5:00am you’d flip the sign in the window and the rush would begin. Your first customers of the day were typically the construction workers and coal miners, they had job sites they had to get to bright and early, and once you learned about their schedules you began purposely opening early for them. They were kind, hardworking guys who were always respectful and appreciative. Typically if the job sites they were on were nearby, they’d send a guy in the afternoon to pick up another round of coffees. You always sent him off with pastries, whatever you had extra of that day, and the next day all of the guys would come in and stuff your jar full of tips, thanking you for your kindness, praising your delicious baking. You’d beg them not to over tip you, the pastries were meant to be on the house, but it never did any good, so eventually you’d just smile and thank them.

Your next rush came at around 7:00am, these were the teachers. You purposely ordered extra large sized cups for this crew, because they always came in looking like they were still half asleep. On holidays they’d order large quantities of cupcakes, donuts, cookies, whatever you were able to make in bulk that children might enjoy, in order to treat their students. You always made sure to throw in a little extra, because you knew the teachers could use a treat too, they’d earned it. 

Your final rush would be between 8:00am-10:00am, this was everyone else. Parents on their way to drop the kids off at school, retail workers, bankers, auto mechanics, plumbers, and everybody in between. By 10:00am your display case would be practically bare, the remaining brewed coffee would be dumped, a single pot would be refreshed for the stragglers, and you’d know that from now until noon things were going to quiet down. You’d take the time to clean up, prepare pastries for baking the following day, come up with new recipes you could try, whatever passed the time, until the after lunch rush came through.

The last three months finally saw Sip of Sunshine in the black. Your tiny café, decked in yellow and white, was bright and cheery. It had two large windows on either side of the door, and each window had two small, round, two seater tables in front of it. Every day you wore a yellow and white knee length, short sleeved, French maid style dress to play up the theme, complete with frilly edges, petite apron, and white knee high socks. You were proud of what you’d accomplished, you enjoyed this new life venture, you’d made friends with most of your customers and had built a small social life for yourself, but there was something nagging at you, nibbling at the back of your mind…

You were lonely. You had made friends, yes, but how long had it been since you’d had a different kind of company?

Not in the year that you’ve owned Sip of Sunshine, and not in the year you spent brokering the deal with Merrill Lynch. Not before that either, not while you were still in New York that last year or two, when the workload just kept piling on and on. Guys had always shown interest in you, heck, even now, how many guys came in to Sip of Sunshine just to flirt with the city girl? And some of them were cute, both the guys back in New York City and the guys here, but most of them didn’t know what to do with a strong, independent woman when they saw one, most of their best pickup lines involved them wanting to take you home and make you their little trophy wife who spends her days raising their brood. They weren’t what you were looking for. 

You weren’t sure what you were looking for exactly.

Not until he walked through the door.

It’s around 10:30am, the morning rush has long since ended, and you’re in the middle of wiping down the four little café tables, your back to the door, when you hear the jingle of the bell that hangs above the threshold. You turn around to greet your customer but the greeting dies right there on your tongue, because standing in the doorway is the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Your eyes meet and he seems just as frozen in place as you are, giving you a quick once-over before clearing his throat and averting his gaze, “Good Morning,” he rumbles, his voice is deep, tinged with that familiar West Virginian accent. 

His greeting finally shakes you from your trance, “Good Morning!” you beam, huge smile on your face, hands clasped in front of you while you try not to fidget with the rag you’d been using to wipe down the table tops. His eyes finally make their way back up to yours. 

“It’s a hot one out there today,” you manage to say, finally getting your feet to start taking you back towards the counter. He’s still standing in the doorway, seemingly unwilling or unable to move. “Come on in,” you hazard with a flick of your head towards the counter, “Cool off a bit, I have the AC turned all the way up.”

He doesn’t react, he doesn’t say a word, just takes a few steps inside, letting the door close behind him. As he makes his way towards the counter you notice that his gait is bowlegged, halting, like it’s a chore to steer that big body of his around. You come to settle behind the counter just as he comes up to it, and you take a moment to admire him. He’s pale, like moonlight, dotted with beauty marks, with a head of thick, black, long hair that just brushes a set of broad shoulders. He has a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee that frames the plushest lips you’ve ever seen. His golden eyes (gold! You’d never met anyone with golden eyes before) are staring intently into yours, like he’s hoping you’ll read his mind, or perhaps maybe he’s trying to read yours. 

“What would you like?” it takes effort to get the words out, but you know you can’t stand here staring at him in silence forever.

After a pause he replies, “Whatever ya think’ll suit me.”

You weren’t expecting that, and the surprise at his response must show on your face because the corners of his lips turn up in the barest hint of a bashful smile, “What I mean is… I don’t know much about pastries, but I’m likin’ to try one.”

The admission makes you a bit giddy, “Well in that case, you’ve come to right place! Although, I’m sorry to say that I don’t have much left, the early morning rush tends to clear me out, but I’ll see what I have. Coffee?”

“It’s appreciated, thank ya—ma’am,” he seems to cut himself off, but whatever else he was going to say is left off with finality, and instead he simply nods. 

“How do you take it?” you ask as you grab a cup and turn to the coffee pot.

“Black, please,” you hear behind you. 

“Are you in a rush?” you ask as you turn back around to face him, now with a full cup of coffee in hand.

“No, ma’am,” he’s a man of few words, it seems.

“Great, have a seat,” you gesture towards the small tables, “I’ll bring it out to you.”

He nods and turns towards the tables, lumbering over. You stifle a giggle at the sight of this extremely large man carefully tucking himself into his seat, the furniture looks like it was made for a child when compared to him.  
Once he has settled in you bring over the coffee and gently place it down in front of him, he nods and thanks you before you disappear behind the counter again to fix him a pastry. Out of the corner of your eye you see him stealing glances over at you while you bustle around and it gives you butterflies, could he be interested in you? The thought excites you, so in a move you’re hoping will sweeten him up to you, you fill a plate for him with a little bit of everything that you have left: a croissant, a bran muffin, two oatmeal cookies, and a peach turnover for a touch of sweetness.

You come back out from behind the counter, plate in hand, and place it in front of him. His eyes go wide at the sight, and immediately dart up to yours, but before he can say anything you interrupt, “Now listen, if you’re going to make a fair judgement of my pastry making skills, you have to try a little bit of everything.” You finish with a smile, taking a step back so as not to crowd him any more than he already is, folded over the tiny table. His jaw works before he swallows, and finally nods, looking back down at the overflowing plate. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

Satisfied, you turn and head back towards the counter, busying yourself with prep work, “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask!” you call over to him, before focusing on anything else other than staring at the beautiful man sitting in your little café.

Out of the corner of your eye you watch him slowly lift the oatmeal cookie to his lips, taking a delicate bite. He proceeds to eat all of the pastries in this manner, slowly, deliberately, seeming to chew far longer than necessary, occasionally taking a sip from his coffee which you periodically refill, always met with a quick nod of his head and a soft ‘thank you.’

The next hour passes in this manner, you bustling around the café, trying to keep yourself busy, while this handsome stranger eats like it’s his last meal on Earth.

When he finally finishes chewing the last bite of peach turnover you come over to take his plate, smiling warmly, “So, how was everything?”

He looks up into your eyes slowly, as if he’s thinking of what to say, before one word finally manages to come loose, “delicious.”

You beam at him, satisfied with his answer, as brief as it was, and this seems to please him too because the corners of his mouth are turning up ever so slightly. 

Just as you’re about to speak the bell above the door jingles, and your attention is diverted. You excuse yourself from the handsome stranger and make your way back to the counter, where the newly arrived customer awaits you.

As you prepare the customer’s large latte you catch the handsome stranger carefully rise from the tiny table, taking one last sip of his coffee before tossing the cup in the trash and making his way towards the counter. You hand your customer their latte and bid them a good day, before returning your attention to the handsome stranger, who now has his wallet out as he rifles through bills. Its now, as you watch him thumb through the bills, that you notice something is different about his left hand. The fingers don’t seem to move. You realize all at once that it must be a prosthetic. 

Your train of thought on the subject is broken when he speaks, “What do I owe you?”

Without hesitation you answer, having made this decision the moment he walked through the door, “It’s on the house.” He opens his mouth to undoubtedly argue but you cut him off before he can get a word out, “Come back again soon and we’ll call it even, how’s that?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you, before that little smile is crooking up the corners of his lips again and he nods, “Alright.”

He tucks his wallet back into his pocket and turns for the door. “Have a great day!” you call out as he grasps the doorknob.

He looks back at you over his shoulder, “Thank you ma’am, you as well,” with a nod, before disappearing back out into the August heat.

You slump back against the wall and let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding for the last hour, while a giddy smile spreads across your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was inspired by a one-shot I read on Tumblr written by Kylo-Renne, called "The Sweetest Thing in Boone County." The story really effected me, and before I knew it I was typing away for the first time in a very long time, overflowing with ideas. This will be a bit of a slow burn, but with a big pay-off, as I imagine romancing Clyde Logan would be. I hope you enjoy!


	2. Your Handsome Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushing the thought aside, you smile up at him when he approaches, taking the empty dishware from him, “How was everything today?”  
> He waits as you turn to drop the dishware into a bucket you’ve got behind the counter, only answering once you’ve resurfaced, “delicious,” is once again all he says, but the smile that spreads is a little bit bigger than the one he wore yesterday, like this time he was anticipating your reaction.  
> If that was his intention, you don’t disappoint him, because your beaming grin splits your face at what you are coming to realize is quite the compliment from him, a man of so few words, “I’m very glad. Come back again soon and I’ll have even more things for you to try.”  
> This seems to make him blush, because suddenly he’s hiding his face from you, very intent on staring at his wallet as he pulls it from his back pocket, “I’d like that,” it comes out just above a whisper, but you hear it all the same, and now you’re blushing as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the positive response! I know Logan Lucky isn't exactly the epitome of what's currently topical, so the fact that this story has received kudos and comments is an extremely pleasant surprise. I hope you all continue to stick around, this story should see updates every weekend, so stay tuned!

It’s another hot August morning in Boone County as you unlock the door to Sip of Sunshine at a bright and early 4:30am. You set off to your usual tasks, putting the trays of pastries into the ovens, prepping the coffee pots, checking the milks. It isn’t long before 5:00am rolls around and your customers start making their way inside. The morning passes smoothly, albeit busily, as you get everyone going on their day. Everyone is a little extra chipper today, as they always tend to be on Fridays, and you are no exception, even though the café will still be open tomorrow. The only day of the week you are closed is Sundays, along with a multitude of other establishments in the area, because as it turns out people don’t tend to stop for coffee before they head off to church. 

The morning crowd comes and goes and before you know it the rush is over, it’s just after 10:30am and you’re taking the opportunity to wipe down the front of the display case. 

The bell that hangs above the front door rings, and you turn to greet your customer, “Good morni—oh! It’s you!” To your surprise, it’s none other than the handsome stranger from yesterday, shoving his hand into the pocket of his snug dark wash jeans as he looks away, embarrassed.

A wide smile spreads across your face at the sight of him, you had hoped he’d come back, and you truly thought he might, but you didn’t think it would be so soon, let alone the very next day. 

You toss your cleaning supplies up onto the counter before continuing, “I guess you were being truthful about the pastries after all, I’m glad you decided to come back.”

At your admission he meets your eyes and shrugs his shoulders while a shy little smile lifts the corners of his mouth, “I wouldn’t dream of lyin’ to ya, ma’am.”

Those butterflies must be having a party in your stomach, because you find yourself clasping your hands in front of you to stop from fidgeting. You swallow down your pleasure at his words and try to act natural, “Well come on in and have a seat, make yourself comfortable.” At your request he steps over to one of the tables and just like yesterday he carefully folds himself in. 

You make your way over to where he’s seated, hands still clasped in front of you, trying quite unsuccessfully to quiet the butterfly rave currently raging in your stomach, “Any preference today or is it dealer’s choice again?”

He looks up at you with those beautiful golden eyes of his and shrugs, is that a smirk? “I trust your judgement.”

You nod and wink, “wise choice,” before turning back towards the counter. 

Today you have quite a few rugelach, so you place a few on his plate, along with a biscuit and a pistachio muffin. Finally, for that touch of sweetness, you add the last piece of peach shortbread you had left. You pour him a large cup of coffee, this time into an actual mug instead of a paper cup, and make your way back out to him. 

“Enjoy!” you say with a flourish as you carefully place the plate and mug down in front of him.

He looks up at you appreciatively, “Thank you, ma’am,” but he doesn’t move to pick anything up, he just stares at you, his gaze soft. You nod, at a bit of a loss for words, taken aback by the soft look in his eyes, before finally finding your voice again, “You’re welcome.” You turn away to leave him to his meal, but it isn’t until you’ve returned to the counter that he picks up one of the rugelach and takes a bite.

Over the course of the hour he spends carefully ingesting all of the pastries on the plate, you have a decent flow of customers, more than you normally would at this time of day. You do your best to make your way over to him periodically, refilling his coffee, exchanging soft smiles and nods, but you are kept busy, and it isn’t long before the handsome stranger is bringing his empty plate and mug up to the counter. You’re disappointed, but you try not to let it show.

Pushing the thought aside, you smile up at him when he approaches, taking the empty dishware from him, “How was everything today?”

He waits as you turn to drop the dishware into a bucket you’ve got behind the counter, only answering once you’ve resurfaced, “delicious,” is once again all he says, but the smile that spreads is a little bit bigger than the one he wore yesterday, like this time he was anticipating your reaction.

If that was his intention, you don’t disappoint him, because your beaming grin splits your face at what you are coming to realize is quite the compliment from him, a man of so few words, “I’m very glad. Come back again soon and I’ll have even more things for you to try.”

This seems to make him blush, because suddenly he’s hiding his face from you, very intent on staring at his wallet as he pulls it from his back pocket, “I’d like that,” it comes out just above a whisper, but you hear it all the same, and now you’re blushing as well.

He clears his throat as his gaze finds yours once more, “Am I allowed to pay for my meal today?” this time that is most definitely a smirk, is he teasing you?

You smirk back, two can play at this game, “If it keeps you coming back, I’ll allow it.”

He looks back down at his wallet and nods, the smirk spreading into a close-lipped grin that he is obviously trying to hide from you. When he pulls out a few bills and finally looks back up at you, the grin has been schooled back into a small smile.

This time, he doesn’t need to say anything, his answer is written all over his face: he’ll be back. 

Now you’re the one hiding your face as money is exchanged, hoping he doesn’t see the very obvious blush slowly spreading across your cheeks.

“Have a good day, ma’am,” he says with a nod, before pocketing his wallet and turning to leave.

“You too,” it doesn’t come out as enthusiastically as you had planned, if anything you sound breathless, but luckily he doesn’t turn back around.

Your mind is reeling, wondering if he’s going to start making a habit out of these visits. You decide to change up the menu, making sure that everything you had planned to make for tomorrow is different from what you’d made the last two days. If he doesn’t come in, no harm no foul, but if he does, well, you’ll be ready for him. 

When 3:00pm rolls around, it’s time to lock up for the day. You finish storing all of tomorrow’s pastries, putting the peach cobbler you’d prepared in the back of the fridge, since that won’t be coming out with the rest of the pastries first thing in the morning. You make sure the cups are refilled, the counters are wiped, the coffee pots are cleaned, everything is in order. As you’re turning the key in the lock your phone begins to ring, it’s Mellie.

Mellie Logan is a hairdresser down at a salon not far from Sip of Sunshine, a salon that only a few weeks ago you found yourself inside of one afternoon when you realized that if you let your hair get any longer your customers might start calling you Cousin It. 

Mellie was kind, sweet, funny, and obviously knew her way around a head of hair because by the time she was done with you your hair looked as good, if not better, than it did after some of the extremely overpriced haircuts you’d gotten back in New York City. 

As a bonus, you and her had really hit it off, exchanging numbers that day which lead to the two of you quickly developing a friendship. Like clockwork, every Friday when you got off she’d give you a ring to set up a Saturday night out. sure enough, when you answered your phone, that’s exactly what she was looking to do.

“Hey darlin’!” Mellie chirps when you answer, “lockin’ up for the day?”

“Yup, another Friday in the books. How’s it going over by you?” You debated telling her about the handsome stranger. Truth be told before today you didn’t think there would be much to tell, not expecting him to come back so soon, if at all. But now, after all of that smiling and flirting you two just did, maybe it was worth mentioning.

“Slower’n molasses, ugh,” she groans, “Wanna stop in for a minute? Shoot the breeze. I can tell ya ‘bout the place I checked out for tomorrow night.”

“Sure, I’m on my way over, see you in a minute,” you were tired, but seeing Mellie was always a pleasure, so you hopped in your truck and took the short ride.

As soon as you pushed open the door to the salon, Mellie’s greeting was already leaving her lips, “Heyyy!” she sing-songed at you as you stepped inside.

“Hey girl,” you replied, making your way over to the empty salon chair across from the one Mellie currently sat in, “are you sure you have time to talk? This place is packed.”

Mellie rolled her eyes and threw herself back against the chair, “I mighta died a’ boredom if you hadn’t shown up. Where is everybody?”

“Hiding in air conditioned places, if I had to guess. It’s hotter than Hades out there,” you swipe some sweat from your forehead for emphasis, “Are you able to close up early if it stays like this?”

Mellie’s brows knit, “I could… but I promised my brother I’d stop by his bar tonight, and I know me, if I go home now, I ain’t ever leavin’.”

“I feel ya,” you nod in agreement. There were plenty of nights back in New York where you left the office exhausted, canceling plans last minute because once you got home and sat down on your couch you couldn’t find the strength to get back up. You didn’t miss those days. “I didn’t know your brother owned a bar. How come we haven’t gone there yet?”

Mellie shakes her head and smirks, “It ain’t the kind of bar pretty young girls like us hang out at. It’s an old man bar, which suits my brother jus’ fine, he’s been an old soul all his life. But you an’ I need a little more excitement,” she finishes with a wink, “I only go there to catch up with him.”

“You’re a good sister, Mellie,” you smile at her, heart warmed by her dedication to her brothers. She had told you that the three of them were very close, their parents had passed away long ago and it had only been the three of them ever since. Now, being so far away from your own family, you were starting to understand just how important a bond like that was.

She laughs, “Someday, when you meet ‘em, you’ll learn that I’m the BEST sister, on account of all of the bullshit I put up with for them!”

You laugh along, “I look forward to it. How bad could they be, with a sister like you taking care of them?”

Mellie rolls her eyes, “Just you wait, trouble finds those two faster than a hot knife can cut through butter. But enough about them, lemme tell ya ‘bout what I’ve got planned for us tomorrow!”

It’s a country bar alright, from the sound of it. Mellie excitedly details what kind of music you’ll be hearing, what kind of dancing is going to be happening, what time happy hour starts and ends, everything up to and including what the two of you should wear, “I’ll stop by your place before we go, do your hair up real nice for ya,” she winks.

“I can’t wait,” you grin at her, not because you’re actually looking forward to going out, or to getting all gussied up, or cat-called, or whatever else is going to go down tomorrow night, but because going out with Mellie, a girl who made quick work of becoming a good friend of yours, has you excited.

And maybe there’s something else you kind of wish would happen, but you can’t think about it now, not while you’re saying your goodbyes to Mellie and taking the short drive home.

You don’t think about it until later that night, curled up on your couch watching a movie. That’s when you let yourself imagine, just for a minute, what would happen if that handsome stranger showed up at the bar tomorrow night, with you looking your best. You won’t be in a bright yellow, frilly little girly girl maid uniform, that’s for sure. He’ll get a taste of the REAL you, the you that used to go out to all of the nicest bars and clubs in New York City dressed to the nine’s. Your tall, broad, handsome country boy wouldn’t know what hit him. You can just imagine how he’d react, how turned on you could make him, how much you WANT to turn him on. The thought makes you bury your face in one of your couch’s throw pillows, blushing like a silly school girl. You fall asleep that night dreaming about a pair of gorgeous golden eyes drinking you in like a tall glass of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters depicted from Logan Lucky.**


	3. Turn the Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don’t know him very well yet, but it’s obvious that he’s a rather quiet, reserved, shy man. Bringing up Bob Seger like that to you, knowing how quiet he seems to be, must’ve been difficult. So to go out of his way like that to talk about Bob Seger, maybe he… well, maybe he’s trying to get to know you, too. The conclusion emboldens you, when you focus in on him again he is unmoving, his unwavering golden gaze cast upon you, perhaps waiting for you to say more, or perhaps unsure of what he should say next, you aren’t sure. What you are sure of however, is that his handsome face is watching yours as if nothing else exists around you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep getting more and more comments from you lovely people, and every single time I am completely shocked to receive them lol. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking the time to say something nice. I hope you continue to enjoy this story.  
> From here on out, things are going to start moving quickly, so if it has felt at all slow, just know that the speed is about to change. I am all about the slow-burn, moreso because I like for stories to feel realistic, especially with a character like Clyde things would not realistically move quickly, but in the interest of, well, interest, Clyde and reader are going to let the comfort and ease they obviously feel around eachother embolden them a bit.

You always tended to wake up happy these days, but when you wake up this morning there is a literal smile on your face. That was new. And it wasn’t just because you were excited to go out with Mellie tonight.

You take a little extra time doing your makeup, putting on a tad bit more than you normally did, nothing crazy, maybe you just felt like using the extra lifting ‘Better Than Sex’ mascara today, it is Saturday afterall, that’s all it is. And maybe it being Saturday also called for the full coverage ‘Peach Perfect’ foundation you used to wear to work every day back in New York, the one that actually smells like peaches and figs, peaches were in season, you were just being enthusiastic about it.

Your hair still had to go back in its usual bun for health code reasons, but you took a little extra time slicking back the baby hairs today, it was no big deal, you’d have to wash it later before Mellie came over anyway. 

You slipped your frilly yellow uniform dress over your head, gave yourself one final once-over, and headed out the door. It was a bit closer to 5:00am, a bit later than you normally left the house, but not as many folks would be coming in quite as early today so you weren’t worried.

“Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns n’ Roses and “Kickstart My Heart” by Motley Crue came on the radio and you sang the whole drive over to Sip of Sunshine. In fact, the music had gotten you into such an energetic mood that when you made your way inside of Sip of Sunshine you chose that station on the café’s radio, foregoing the typical soft pop you usually had playing in the background all day. You didn’t think your customers would mind, most of them didn’t look like they were huge fans of Ed Sheeran anyway.

Today’s pastries went in to the ovens, the coffee pots were prepped, and the day began.

At around 9:30am you decided to pop that peach cobbler into the oven. It would be done in an hour, just in time for… whoever decided to stop by around 10:30am. No one in particular, nope. But nevertheless, those butterflies did a little summersault as you slid the pie into the oven and closed the door.

At 10:15am you served one last large coffee, light and sweet, before hustling back into the kitchen to take out the cobbler. It both smelled and looked delicious, possibly the best looking peach cobbler you’d made yet, you hoped it would have a taste to match. As you plopped it on to a cooling rack the bell above the door jingled and your heart stopped, you tore off your oven mitts and ran out from the back. Just another customer, a woman who came in relatively often, she’d introduced herself a while back as Rosie, very friendly, you gave her a smile, “Morning, Rosie!”

“Mornin’ yourself, darlin’. What’s got you all in a tizzy?” she asked, lips curling in a knowing smile.

You blushed, were you that transparent? “Oh, nothing! Just happy it’s Saturday, that’s all!”

She raised her eyebrows, clearly not buying it, but let it go all the same, “Ain’t we all, darlin’. I’ll take the usual, if ya don’t mind.”

The two of you made small talk as you prepared her medium iced coffee, she asked you if you had any plans for the evening and you mentioned going out with a friend. Her eyebrow raised but again she said nothing about it, just nodded and wished you a good weekend as she left. 

When you were finally alone again you took the opportunity to take a few steadying breaths, there’s no reason to get yourself this worked up, what if he didn’t even come by today?

As if on queue, the clock strikes 10:30am and there he appears, his broad frame decked in a short sleeved charcoal gray button down shirt tucked into snug black jeans, pulling open the door with a small smile, “Good Mornin’, ma’am,” he drawls as he steps inside.

“Good Morning, Happy Saturday!” you practically squeal, you immediately internally winced, get ahold of yourself!

His smile widens a fraction, “Happy Saturday to ya as well.”

His eyes drift, you watch as he takes a deep breath in through his nose, smelling the air, “Something smells heavenly,” he remarks, eyes coming back to yours.

“Well as it so happens, you’re just in time for some fresh baked peach cobbler,” his eyes widen a fraction at the information, “would you like some?”

He nods enthusiastically, “Yes, ma’am. I’d like that very much.”

“Excellent,” you wink at him and then tilt your head towards the tables, “Go have a seat, I’ll bring you some.”

Obediently, without another word, he lumbers over to the tables while you scurry into the back to cut a slice of cobbler. It’s still warm, but not too hot, the perfect temperature. You throw open the freezer and pull out a carton of vanilla ice cream, grabbing an ice cream scoop and a spoon from a tray of utensils. You run the scoop under hot water for a moment until it’s just hot enough to scoop a perfect dollop of ice cream beside the slice of cobbler. You place the spoon on the plate, release a shaky breath, and make your way back out front. You quickly pour him a mug of coffee and then round the counter, setting down the mug and plate in front of him. 

You notice that the little tight-lipped smile he was sporting when he walked in still hasn’t left his face, and now he flashes it at you after you’ve deposited the cobbler in front of him, “Thank ya ma’am, this looks positively delicious.”

“I’m counting on you to tell me if it tastes as good as it looks,” you smile and gesture to the plate, “please, dig in.”

He nods and looks back down at the plate, gingerly lifting the tiny spoon in his very large hand, are your spoons really that small? Before scooping up a spoonful, being sure to grab a little ice cream with it. The spoon disappears into his mouth, his eyes slide shut and he moans, the sound of it makes you think your knees might give out on you right there on the spot. You clasp your hands tightly in front of you, and when he finally swallows and looks back up at you your eyebrows have practically met your hairline, “Well, what do you think?”

“Sweetness, that was heaven,” he smiles in earnest, but it only lasts a moment before his eyebrows knit together and he drops his gaze, “pardon me ma’am, I didn’t mean ta call ya that.”

Confused by his unprompted apology, now it’s your turn to knit your brows together, “What?”

He gulps, you see the muscles in his jaw working, he still doesn’t meet your gaze when he speaks, “It’s not proper for me to go callin’ such a classy lady like yourself ‘Sweetness’, I do apologize.”

Your eyebrows have definitely merged with your hairline this time, and you can’t stop the laugh that tumbles out of your mouth. It must startle him, because he peeks up at you.

“Sweetheart, I much prefer ‘Sweetness’ to ‘Ma’am’, I’ll tell you that right now. There’s no need to apologize,” you soften your face and smile, doing your best to show him that no harm was done. If you’re being honest, you felt a very distinct clench in the pit of your stomach when ‘sweetness’ came out of those plush lips of his, you could get used to being called that.

His eyes slide away, as if he’s thinking about it, before you notice a soft flush start to form on his cheeks, “Are ya sure?” he mumbles.

You smile at him reassuringly, “As sure as the sun rises in the East, now enjoy your cobbler before the ice cream turns to soup. I’ll be back to refill your coffee in a bit.”

He peeks up at you again and nods, before training his eyes back on his dish and slowly digging his spoon into the cobbler.

You head back to the counter and busy yourself, occasionally stealing a glance at him, more often than not you catch him doing the same. Just little lingering looks at your face, your hands, your… oh my, was he just looking at your ass?? You bite your lip and stare intently at the empty pastry trays you had just been bent over as you’d pulled them out of the display case. 

He makes quick work of the cobbler, his plate is already empty when you come back to refill his coffee. “I’ll have to have a word with the baker, it’s obvious you didn’t like that cobbler one bit,” you remark seriously, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

This finally seems to break him from his quiet little reverie, because that small smile is tugging at his lips again when he answers, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to try another slice, just to confirm.”

You giggle, but quickly school your features back into mock seriousness and nod, “Of course, could’ve been an unlucky slice.”

“Well I certainly know a thing or two ‘bout bein’ unlucky, so best to make sure,” he squints and smirks at you conspiratorially.

“Absolutely sir, I’ll return with a brand new, much luckier slice momentarily,” you take his plate and bow, barely containing your grin, before disappearing into the back. You clean off the dish before slicing another piece from the cobbler, plating another scoop of vanilla ice cream, and reemerging from the kitchen.

You place the plate down in front of him and he looks up to face you fully, playful expression gone, replaced with softened features and a voice full of warmth, “Thank you, sweetness.” He seems to take extra care enunciating the word ‘sweetness’, almost as if he’s testing out how it feels to use it intentionally.

Your heart skips a beat at his shift in tone, and you can’t stop your hand from reaching out to gently touch his bicep, “You’re very welcome.”

His eyes widen slightly at the contact, but you turn and dart back to the counter before you can see any more of his reaction, suddenly mortified at your boldness.

He begins slowly eating the cobbler while you busy yourself wiping down the countertop. “Turn the Page” by Bob Seger comes on the radio and you find yourself humming along to it, perhaps not realizing how loudly you were humming, or maybe his hearing is just that good, because the deep timber of his voice carries from across the café, “You listen to Bob Seger?”

Your head snaps up to look at him but you continue to wipe down the countertop, “Yeah. Yeah, Bob Seger’s great.”

He nods, then seems to think for a moment, weighing some kind of unknown option. You continue to watch him, waiting for him to reach his decision, even though what that decision is about eludes you. His adam’s apple bobs, almost as if he’s steadying himself with some kind of determination, then he finds your eyes once more, “I saw him two years ago in Charleston. Me and my brother. Was a great show. He’s one of my favorites.”

At that you stop wiping. This is the most he’s said to you yet that didn’t involve coffee or pastries. Not wanting to squander the opportunity to hear a little something about him, you leave the rag forgotten on the counter and make your way towards his table, “You saw him in concert? That’s awesome!”

Your reaction seems to vindicate him, because his features relax ever so slightly. He nods again, “He’s a hell of a performer, I won’t never forget that show s’long as I live.”

You shake your head with a smile, “I’m jealous, I hope I get the chance to see him too.” You stop for a moment, wondering how to continue this conversation, how to keep him talking. You don’t know him very well yet, but it’s obvious that he’s a rather quiet, reserved, shy man. Bringing up Bob Seger like that to you, knowing how quiet he seems to be, must’ve been difficult. So to go out of his way like that to talk about Bob Seger, maybe he… well, maybe he’s trying to get to know you, too. The conclusion emboldens you, when you focus in on him again he is unmoving, his unwavering golden gaze cast upon you, perhaps waiting for you to say more, or perhaps unsure of what he should say next, you aren’t sure. What you are sure of however, is that his handsome face is watching yours as if nothing else exists around you. Your heart flutters, your brain stumbles for a moment longer before it finds words, “Have you seen anyone else in concert?”

His eyebrows raise a fraction in surprise at your question, although you aren’t sure why he’d be surprised by it, or perhaps it’s just in surprise at being broken from his own quiet reverie, “Yeah, I’ve been to a few.”

You press on, you want to keep that soothing baritone going, “Who have you seen?”

“Well,” he takes a moment, looking away while he thinks, “I saw White Snake at the fair one year, I seen Boston play in Danville, and one time when we was teenagers my bother an’ I snuck in to a Motorhead concert. It was all his idea, he’s lucky we didn’ get caught. Great show though,” he finishes with a shrug and a smile.

You’re giggling at him, moon-eyed, when the bell above the door chimes. You both turn to look at who enters, and silently you curse them for interrupting your conversation, even though, rationally, you know you shouldn’t be angry. As you leave to take the customer’s order, the handsome stranger resumes eating his cobbler, and by the time you’re handing the customer their coffee and muffin the handsome stranger is rising from his seat, plate and mug in hand. You sigh, reluctant to see him go, especially after finally having gotten to talk to him a little more. That brief time spent with him had felt… easy. Comfortable. You wondered if he felt it too.

Perhaps he had, because as he places the plate and mug on the countertop he’s frowning, brows knit, eyes trained down. But then some thought seems to come to him and it’s like a curtain is pulled across his face, because the frown disappears and he meets your eyes with a happy resolve, “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

You perk up at the sudden change in him, curious what he could want that would turn his mood around so quickly like that. You rush to acquiesce, “Yeah, of course, anything.”

“I’d like to buy the rest a’ that peach cobbler, if that’s alright with you.” Your mouth drops open a bit, just a bit. You don’t know what you were expecting him to ask you, but it hadn’t been that, and it caught you off guard. He appraises your reaction and picks his hands up almost defensively, as if preparing to explain himself, “I noticed you’re closed on Sundays, is all, so since I can’t come by tomorrow, I was figurin’ I could buy it from ya and have it for breakfast.”

You snap your mouth shut and nod with enthusiasm, “Of course! Let me just box it up for you,” before you quickly dart into the kitchen. You take deep, steadying breaths as you box up the cobbler, trying to coax away the blush that you know without a doubt is what’s heating up your face. You take one last deep breath before you step back out from the kitchen, boxed cobbler in hand, and deposit it on the counter. 

The handsome stranger pulls some bills from his wallet, way more than what he owed, places them on the counter, shoves his wallet back into his pocket and scoops up the box, balancing it in the crook of his left arm, “Thank you, sweetness. I hope ya have a nice weekend.” With a nod and a smile he disappears out the front door, letting you finally unleash the beaming smile you’d kept at bay, ever since he asked to buy the cobbler.  
You were beaming because he’d just admitted that if he could have, he would have come again tomorrow. He’d admitted that if he couldn’t come see you, then he still wanted something of yours to take with him, to have.

It seems like your handsome stranger is quickly becoming a regular, the thought leaves you weak in the knees.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, all you can think about is the hour you spent with your handsome stranger. You had made that peach cobbler not even knowing if he would be back today to eat it, let alone ask to bring it home. And when he called you ‘Sweetness’ you practically melted on the spot, no one had ever called you ‘Sweetness’ before, you knew terms of endearment were pretty commonly used here in West Virginia but there was something special about the way he used it, especially when he got all bashful for saying it. You knew there was an unwavering smile on your face, you could feel it, and you knew it was causing a lot of raised eyebrows and knowing looks on anyone who came in for a cup of coffee after he’d left, but you didn’t care. Boy, this was going to be a long weekend, wasn’t it.

3:00pm rolled around and you locked up for the day, heading home to start getting ready for your night out with Mellie. You tossed your uniform into the hamper and jumped in the shower, washing off the day’s sweat and makeup. When you were finished you wrapped yourself in your fluffy robe and curled up on the couch, Mellie wouldn’t be by until closer to 7:00pm so you took the opportunity to relax. You read for a little while, some cheesy romance novel you’d picked up at the grocery store, then flipped through the channels for a bit, before finally getting up around 5:30pm to make yourself something to eat, you weren’t fool enough to drink on an empty stomach.

This being a country bar you were heading to tonight, you and Mellie had decided to go with denim skirts. You pull yours over your hips and pull a white fringe top from your closet. You complete the look with a pair of white cowboy boots. You take your time doing your makeup, you wanted to make sure you looked your best. After all, you never know who you might see while you’re out.

Shortly after you finished getting ready, Mellie was ringing your doorbell, you let her in and she greeted you with a big hug, “Ready to have some fun?” She was decked out in a tight pink tank top, denim skirt, and white cowboy boots, with her hair and makeup done up to the nines. 

“I was born ready!” you winked, before the two of you headed for your bathroom. You dragged in a stool and Mellie got to work on your hair.

“How was last night, at your brother’s bar?” you ask, as Mellie plugs in your curling iron to heat up.

She makes a face, her brows kitting together, “It was nice and all, it’s always nice to catch up, but… I don’t know, my brother seemed… off.”

“Off?” you echo with concern.

“Yeah, off,” she purses her lips, “I don’t quite know how to describe it, he just wasn’t his usual self.”

Still not quite understanding, but nevertheless concerned, you press on, “Do you think something happened?”

“Something definitely happened,” she says with her eyebrows raised, “It’s like he had this smile on his face all night, like he knew a secret that none of us knew, but he wouldn’t tell us what.”

Oh! And here you were thinking it was something bad. A smile on his face all night? You could certainly relate, your thoughts drift to your handsome stranger and a secret smile plants itself on your face too.

Mellie glances at you, giving you that same raised eyebrow and knowing look that everyone else had been giving you all day, “Alright girl, spill it. Who’s got you all dreamy-looking?”

You gasped, throwing your hands up in front of you, feigning innocence, “Who? There’s no ‘who’, I’m just looking forward to tonight, that’s all!”

But Mellie wasn’t buying it for one second, “Don’t you go lyin’ to me, I know that look. I told you my brother was actin’ all weird last night, right? Well he had that same look, but every time I pressed him about it he shut his lips and wouldn’t say a word. I didn’t push him too hard since I know he’s a bit shy and sensitive and all, but YOU on the other hand, I will press harder than a juicy orange on a hot summer day unless you spill!” 

She’s got her hairbrush pointed at you like it’s a gun and you’re being held up. The image, and her persistence, are too much, you laugh and shake your head, “Alright, alright, ya got me, don’t shoot, I’ll tell you.”

Her face immediately relaxes, before simultaneously turning giddy, “Go on, I’m listenin’!”

You exhale, “Truth be told, there isn’t much to say yet. It’s a customer, he just started coming in the other day. He’s very handsome, tall and broad, with the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does he’s so sweet and kind,” you catch your reflection in the mirror and see that your face is going all dreamy again, “but I don’t even know his name.”

Mellie has that knowing look plastered on her face, she nods sagely, as if evaluating everything you’ve just said, “Well, sounds to me like you’re going to have to ask him yourself. You said he doesn’t talk much, right? Sounds like he might be shy, just like my brother, he don’t talk much either on account of how shy he is. This guy probably wants to tell ya, and to find out yours, just probably doesn’t know how. Looks like you’re gonna have to turn on that strong, independent city girl charm and pull it out of him,” she says the last part with a wink.

You laugh, blushing, “I think you might be right, Mellie.” 

She seems to stop and think for a moment, before her whole face lights up, “Can you imagine if we saw your guy tonight at the bar? How excited would you be?”

You grin, pretending to faint, “I might die right on the spot, oh my gosh! Can you imagine? What would the chances be!”

“Ya never know, ya might get lucky,” Mellie wiggles her eyebrows, before going back to putting the finishing touches on your hair.

She did beautiful work, as always. Your hair cascaded around you in big brushed out curls, “You always manage to make me look like a model Mellie, thank you,” you say as you look yourself over in the mirror.

“Darlin’ I ain’t done nothin’ but enhance what was already there,” she responds fondly, before diving in to help you put away all of the hair tools that are now scattered around the bathroom.

Putting the last of the tools away, you face her, “Not to get all mushy on ya, but… I’m glad I met you, thanks for being my friend.”

She gives you a soft smile and nods, putting her hand on your shoulder, “Let me put it to ya this way… I always wanted a sister, on account of me being stuck with two bone-headed big brothers. I never got one, so instead I tried to make some female friends. But any time I’d bring one of those friends around, my brothers would do somethin’ dumb and scare ‘em away, so I gave up tryin’. But from the day you walked into my salon, and we got to talkin’, there was just somethin’ about ya… like you were that sister I’d been hopin’ for. I know we haven’t known eachother very long but, I can tell a good person when I meet one. And I’ve learned my lesson from the past, I ain’t bringin’ you nowhere NEAR my brothers.”

You both laugh and she pulls you into a hug. “Alright now enough of that mushy stuff,” she says pulling away, “It’s time to party!”

As you head out the door and into Mellie’s car, you think about what she had said to you in the bathroom. You were so happy to have made friends with her, you agreed that your relationship had felt almost sisterly. It’s a shame that her brothers are such characters, you can’t help but think how lucky you’d be to have Mellie for a sister-in-law, but if what she says is true, that’s not ever going to happen.

The two of you make small talk as Mellie drives you to the bar, she loves to drive fast but you learned rather early into your friendship that she’s in complete control of the car. Her and cars seem to have a special connection, you envy her mechanical know-how. You’ve always had a soft spot for classic cars, and Mellie’s is no exception, it’s a real beaut’. 

It isn’t long before she’s pulling into the already crowded parking lot of the bar, finding an open spot and putting the car in park. The two of you check your lipstick, spray a little extra perfume, and then step out into the lot, ready for whatever the night holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you be interested, or alright, with a chapter told from Clyde's perspective? If you could tell me in the comments I would appreciate it. I have an idea of what chapter it would be, specifically because it would be an event the reader wouldn't be present for, but that would be important to the plot. I think it could add an extra layer of plot to the story, giving us subconscious knowledge that we as "reader" aren't supposed to have, but that will now act as almost a Sword of Damocles (except not that bad because this is a happy story). Please let me know what you think of this idea!
> 
> **Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters depicted from Logan Lucky.**


	4. Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You feel your insides clench with need and it takes everything in you to not reach out and touch him, run your fingertips down the side of his face, card them through his hair, every fiber of your being is screaming out to touch him, but instead you lace your fingers together tightly in your lap and nod, “You’re very welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, everybody! Here comes a bit of naughty! Prepare yourselves!!  
> Also prepare yourselves for an emotional roller coaster because boy did I get carried away with this chapter.  
> This is the tip of the iceberg though, there's no turning back now for Clyde and Sweetness.  
> Also, Clyde POV chapter is definitely happening, thank you all so much for your feedback!!  
> Finally, if for some reason you don't feel comfortable leaving a comment below, but you want to give me anonymous feedback, I'm on Tumblr as Contesa-lui-Alucard  
> Thank you and enjoy!

You wake up Sunday morning with a pounding headache, and it takes a lot more energy than normal to roll over and check the time. It’s mid-morning, much later than you normally sleep in, but it’s your day off, so you don’t rush to get moving. Truth be told, moving would have to wait regardless, at least until this hangover headache subsides.

The night, what you can remember of it, had been a lot of fun. You and Mellie drank, danced, laughed, and drank some more. Some slick guys tried to flirt with the two of you, offering to buy you drinks, complimenting your looks, but you both brushed them off. Mellie had mentioned she’d been seeing a friend of her brothers’ off and on, but truth be told even if she hadn’t been seeing someone, Mellie was way out of those guys’ leagues. And you, well… you had someone in mind. Sadly, you saw neither hide nor hair of him the whole night, though.

An hour passes before you feel well enough to get out of bed, and another hour passes before you have the strength to get dressed and venture outside. Sundays are usually reserved for relaxing around the house, but you know that the only cure for your current predicament is a big, greasy breakfast, so you buck up and make the trek.

Your day proceeds without incident, you have a much needed breakfast at the local diner, Mellie gives you a call to laugh about the night before, you do some work around the house, and before you know it you’re making dinner. 

It isn’t until you’ve curled up on the couch afterwards that you allow the thought to creep in, when there’s nothing left to distract you from the thing that’s gnawing at you, that thing being your handsome stranger. Will you really be able to work up the courage to ask him his name, like Mellie had told you to do? It couldn’t hurt to try. You’d never really thought of yourself as shy, normally you weren’t, it was just something about him that made you clam up. Those eyes of his were as sweet as honey and golden to match, you could stare into them for hours. You wanted to sink your hands into his soft black hair, press into those full plush lips, and feel his big strong arms wrap tightly around you. Blushing, you try to cut off your train of thought, it feels kind of wrong to be thinking these thoughts about a man whose name you don’t even know, but then the image of that tight-lipped little smile of his pops into your head and you can’t stop yourself. You jump off of the couch and make a b-line for your bedroom, rifling around in your bedside table drawer for the relief to the ache forming between your legs that these errant thoughts are causing.

Tucked away, wrapped up in a handkerchief so as to be slightly more inconspicuous, is the pink silicone vibrator you’d bought for yourself many moons ago. Ol’ faithful had never failed you even in your darkest days, and tonight would be no exception. You turned down the lights, laid down on your bed propped up against the pillows, slipped off your lounge pants and panties in one swift motion, spread open your legs and closed your eyes. The first image you see are those thick fingers of his, on his oven mitt sized hand, that hand that seems to dwarf everything it comes into contact with. You imagine those thick fingers skimming the lips of your pussy, delicately, softly, just like how he speaks. Then slowly he spreads them open, one finger lazily dragging over your dripping opening, slicking it up in your juices that are already gushing for him. You turn on your vibrator and place it against your clit, but in your mind it’s that slicked up finger of his, drawing lazy circles, not applying nearly enough pressure, wanting to take his time drawing the pleasure out of you, just like how he takes his time eating your pastries. Your stomach is already tightening, you aren’t going to last long, not if you keep going like this. Might as well go for broke. You imagine his body sliding down yours until those raven locks are tickling your thighs, honey eyes burning as he refuses to break your gaze, before his tongue licks a hot stripe up your slit, swirling around your throbbing clit. His mustache tickles you, which only enhances the overall sensation and you writhe, absolutely writhe underneath him. One heavy hand comes down flat on your stomach, fingers splayed, keeping you right where he wants you. Your toes curl, your head falls back, and you let out the neediest whine that has ever left your throat as your orgasm crashes through you. You switch off the vibrator and let your limbs fall limp as the aftershocks dissipate, only opening your eyes once they’ve passed, not yet wanting to let go of the perfect little fantasy you’d just concocted for yourself. 

Slowly you rise from your bed, pulling your pants back up, and make your way to the bathroom to give your toy a rinse. You feel a bit shameful, it can’t be right to be touching yourself to thoughts of a stranger. There’s only one way to fix that, then. You can’t help the thoughts you have about him, but you can help change his status as a stranger. That’s it, you nod to yourself with resolve, you’re just going to have to get to know him better. You crawl back into bed and spend your remaining waking hours coming up with a plan.

At 4:00am your alarm goes off and you hop out of bed faster than you ever have before. This time, you don’t even pretend, you put on the good mascara shamelessly. Your entire line of Too Faced Peach Perfect makeup is applied without a moment’s hesitation. Your hair gets pulled back, your dress gets pulled on, and out the door you scurry, pulling up in front of Sip of Sunshine without a moment to spare. 

Mondays are always the busiest, everyone needs a cup of coffee to get them through the day after the weekend is done. Today is so busy, in fact, that you’re still consistently serving customers well past 10:00am, I guess some folks decided to roll into work a little later than usual. So when he slips inside, you’re so wrapped up with your work you don’t even notice him at first. It isn’t until you see movement by the tables that you realize he came in, taking a seat at the same table he always seems to sit at, and waits. It’s almost 11:00am before you’re handing your last customer their iced latte, a good half an hour since he arrived, but he hasn’t budged. You exhale loudly and slump dramatically on the counter, then peek up to see his reaction. His smile is full of mirth, “Busy mornin’?”

You pop your elbows up on the counter and lean your chin on your fists, “You could say that. Coffee?”

“You read my mind,” he nods, “but take your time, I’m in no rush.”

“I was born doing everything in a New York Minute, sweetheart. I don’t know the meaning of ‘no rush’,” you stick your tongue out at him before setting off to make him a plate. You grab a corn muffin, two chocolate chip cookies, and a peach hand pie. You make an iced latte for yourself, pour a mug of hot black coffee for him, and bring everything over to his table. You place his mug and plate down in front of him before putting your iced latte down and taking the seat across from him. He looks a bit startled, surprised, just a slight raising of his eyebrows, but he doesn’t protest so you let it embolden you, flashing him your best puppy dog eyes, “I hope you don’t mind, I’ve been on my feet since four and I could really use a minute.”

He shakes his head, almost a little too enthusiastically, “No, no, I don’t mind. I’d be a fool to turn down the company of such a beautiful, hardworking lady as yourself.” He smiles and dips his head as he says the last part, looking up at you through his lashes, bashful but flirty.

Your smile stretches from ear to ear, this man is the cutest thing on the planet. It’s now or never, you think to yourself, and extend your hand over the table towards him, “I’m (Y/N),” his eyes dart from your hand, to your eyes, and back to your hand again before his finally rises up to meet it. He moves slowly, gingerly grasping it, almost as if he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. You can understand why, his hand is almost triple the size of yours, yours is completely engulfed in his when he takes it. His palm is clammy, he’s nervous, the thought makes your heart clench. You give his hand a squeeze and a slight shake, “I thought it only right to introduce myself if I was going to impose on your breakfast.”

“s’no imposition,” he shakes his head, smile turning dreamy, he still hasn’t released your hand, “I’m Clyde, Clyde Logan, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, (Y/N).”

You smile at him brightly, “It’s a pleasure to make yours, Clyde,” you give his hand another shake before reluctantly pulling yours away, he jerks his back into his lap.

You gesture towards his plate, “Please, don’t let me stop you, you must be starving by now.”

He nods, looks down at his plate, and reluctantly picks his hand back up from his lap to pick up the corn muffin, peeling off the wrapper with his pointer finger and thumb, before taking a bite. You notice that his left hand is kept resting on his thigh, hidden under the table top, but you file away the question that the action prompts for later.

You watch him work enraptured, those are some talented fingers. Best not to dwell on that at the moment though, so you cross your legs and change the subject, “How was the peach cobbler yesterday? Did it hold up well?”

He swallows his mouthful and places the muffin back down on the plate, that little curve of a smile is back when he begins to speak, “My brother almost ate it on me.”

“What!” you exclaim, and he nods like he’s about to testify, “I brought it to work with me, seein’ as how I go straight there from here when I’m done, and I put it in the office. Well he came by and went in the office, saw the cobbler sittin’ on my desk, and took a forkful. It was so delicious that he came out the office to tell me so, and to ask me where it came from, and I damn near tackled him to the ground when I saw what he’d had in his hand. ‘cept I didn’t wanna accidentally crush the cobbler, so I just told him to leave it be.” You start to laugh, and the reaction must egg him on because his face and voice get more and more animated as he continues, “Well, just askin’ my brother to do, or not do something is like asking a cow to milk itself, it ain’t never gonna happen, so of course he goes in for another forkful. He ate a whole slice’s worth before I finally wrestled the box away from ‘im.”

“Then what happened?” you manage to ask in between laughs.

His eyes are bright and full of mirth, he’s grinning when he continues, “Well I certainly didn’t trust him to not grab it when I wasn’t lookin’, on account of me bein’ busy workin’, so he left me with no choice.”

Your laughs are stopped by a gasp of anticipation, you lean forward on the table, eyebrows up, “What did you do?”

He shrugs, nonchalant, but his grin spreads ear to ear. You notice his teeth are a bit crooked, but it’s endearing, it makes him look almost boyish, “I ate the whole thing right in front of ‘im.” 

You fall back on your chair and let out loud laughter, “You mean to tell me that you basically ate an entire peach cobbler in one day just so your brother couldn’t have any?”

He throws his hands up defensively, “You don’t know what my brother’s like, sweetness. He woulda eaten that entire cobbler on me outa spite, but there wasn’t no way I was lettin’ him eat it, that cobbler was special, he wouldn’t ‘ve appreciated it.” 

You wipe away some of the tears that have collected in the corners of your eyes and release one last laugh before you try to collect yourself. Clyde is still grinning from ear to ear and it’s the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. Was your silly little peach cobbler really that important to him, or was this all just a product of siblings messing around with eachother? You couldn’t help but wonder, so you decided to take a chance. With a smile still lingering on your face you shake your head, “Clyde, I would’ve gladly made you another one, you didn’t need to go through all of that trouble on account of one little cobbler.”

Clyde’s grin seems to shrink into a bitten back smile, he averts his eyes for a moment, seemingly taken aback by your offer, before he brings his eyes back up to yours with some new kind of determination swimming in those golden pools, his voice earnest, “That cobbler was heaven in a pie tin, sweetness.” 

Now it’s you averting your eyes, cheeks heating up, taken aback by the emphasis with which he spoke. You suppose you got your answer.

Then with the quirk of a smirk, he finishes, “I stand by my actions.”

This gets another giggle out of you, which manages to spread his smirk into a small grin. 

“It certainly doesn’t look like I’ll be changing your mind about that,” you pretend to roll your eyes in exasperation, “But next time, remember my offer.”

He nods, expression turning soft, “I will. Thank you, sweetness.”

You feel your insides clench with need and it takes everything in you to not reach out and touch him, run your fingertips down the side of his face, card them through his hair, every fiber of your being is screaming out to touch him, but instead you lace your fingers together tightly in your lap and nod, “You’re very welcome.”

After what seems like a very long couple of moments spent staring into eachothers’ eyes, yours finally wander towards your latte, needing some kind of distraction from the overwhelming need pooling in your belly. As you lift the latte to your lips you watch his long fingers gently pick the muffin up off of his plate. The two of you spend a bit of time like this, just enjoying the other’s company in companionable silence, while Clyde makes slow work of his food.

You’re gazing out the front window, lost in the moment, when his voice breaks the silence, “Did you mention somethin’ ‘bout a New York minute before?”

You turn back to him dazed, slightly caught off guard by the question, but you nod, “yeah,” a small smile quirks up the corners of your lips, “you know, a New York minute. Because New York is always moving a mile a minute.”

Clyde’s smile holds mirth, “I know what a New York minute means, darlin’. What I mean to ask is, why?”

“Oh!” you flush, embarrassed by your presumption, “I’m sorry, that was dumb,” you finish with a palm slapped to your face.

He actually chuckles, you hear it, light, soft, quick, but a chuckle no less, and you feel thick digits wrap around your wrist, lightly tugging your hand away from your face. The sudden contact leaves you breathless, which he must confuse for further embarrassment, because his expression is sympathetic. He lowers your hand to the table top, but he doesn’t release it right away, “It’s alright sweetness, you just misunderstood. What I’m tryin’ to ask ya is… well…” his thumb begins to slide back and forth along your wrist, slowly, as if he’s so lost in his own head while he finds what he wants to say that he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, “what I mean is, you don’t sound like you’re from around here… no offense. So what I’m tryin’ to ask ya is, where are ya from?”

Your brain turns into more and more mush with each swipe of his thumb, so it’s difficult for you to get the words out right away, but finally you manage to answer, “New York.”

A look of wonder washes over his face, “Ya don’t say.” He seems to turn the thought over in his mind once more before the wonder is replaced with a knowing smile, “well that certainly explains it.”

Your brow wrinkles in confusion, “Explains what?”

He releases your wrist and you immediately miss the feeling, the comforting rub of his thumb had felt so soothing, you stop yourself from reaching out, grabbing his hand, and placing your wrist back in its grip.

He seems to be amused by your lack of self-awareness if the smirk is any indication, “Well the accent, for one. And how you’re constantly flutterin’ around, makin’ yourself busy. And how quickly you do things, things don’t normally get done that fast ‘round here. I figured you were from the city, I jus’ wasn’t sure which one, til ya mentioned the New York minute, that is. I been wantin’ to ask ya about it, I just wasn’t sure how.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, then chuckle, “yeah, I do stand out a bit around here.”

His brow wrinkles with concern, but there’s an edge of protective anger in his voice, “Folks are kind to ya though, right?”

You’re taken aback by his concern, “I mean… In the beginning, I just think they didn’t know what to think of me, you know? This is a small town, and I’m not from around here. On top of that, I know people have a lot of preconceived notions about New York. But now, a lot of people know me, they’re kind to me. I’m always going to stand out a bit, but they aren’t unkind.”

Clyde seems to absorb this for a moment, the edge melting from his features, he nods in confirmation of his understanding.

“I know the feelin’,” he responds, eyes going distant, it comes out as if he’s saying it more to himself than to you. Curiosity gets the better of you though, so you can’t help but press, “You do?”

He nods, then lightly places his left hand on the table, “I lost my lower forearm and my hand to a roadside mine,” he taps a spot in the middle of his left forearm, and then runs his finger down the rest of his arm and hand to demonstrate, “Folks ain’t used to seein’ a transradial amputee. So on account of that, and,” he hesitates, “a few other things, I tend to stand out.”

His eyes remain on his left arm, expression pained, and you’re left trying to absorb what he’s just told you. A roadside mine? The last time you checked, West Virginia didn’t have to many of those lying around. Other things? What other things? Does he mean…

You reach out and gently place your hand over his left one. The gesture gets his attention, wide eyes immediately snapping up to meet yours. 

The words come out soft, “You’re a veteran?”

His jaw works for a moment, before he swallows and nods, “Yes, did two tours in Iraq.”

You squeeze the prosthetic gently, and even though he couldn’t possibly have felt that, he must know, because his right hand comes up to cover yours.

“Thank you for your service,” you try to say it with a smile, but the pain in his eyes has you choking back your own emotions. His jaw works again, as if trying to swallow down the tears that seem to be turning his eyes glossy and the grip on your hand tightens. He takes a moment to collect himself, all the while staring deeply into you, before he’s finally able to speak, voice a low rumble, “It was an honor to serve.”

Your heart breaks for him, for the pain and sadness etched into his features, you want to wrap him up in your arms and hold him close, let him nuzzle into your neck, rub calming circles into his back, this brave man deserves comfort, deserves happiness. But he’s barely known you a week, you fear it would be too bold of you to do something so intimate. He can’t stay like this though, hurting, you can’t bear to let him keep hurting, you have to do something.

You try as best as you can to tamp down the emotions coursing through you and put on a smile, “You do know what this means then, don’t you?”

Your seemingly incongruous statement seems to bring him back a bit, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “What’s that now, sweetness?”

You bring your free hand up to your chest, gesturing to yourself, “I thought I was the only one who stuck out in this town.” He’s listening intently, hanging on your every word. You continue, “People don’t mean to, I don’t think, but they’ll treat me differently. Normally I just brush it off, but sometimes… sometimes it leaves me feeling very alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he says it softly, but with unwavering conviction, he squeezes your hand again and stares at you intensely, as if he’s trying to convey a deeper message.

“Neither are you,” your throat is suddenly too tight again, but you smile, reaching out and gently cupping his cheek, doing your best to convey your own deeper message.

As soon as your skin makes contact he sharply sucks in a breath. His right hand releases its hold on the hand you have covering his prosthetic and he lifts it slowly, delicately sliding it on top of the one cradling his face, barely applying pressure, as if he fears your hand will shatter if he’s too rough.

The bell above the door chimes and both of you jump, turning to look at the door, retracting your hands, the moment is lost. Clyde’s eyes slide back down to his plate and you sigh, reluctantly rising from the table to make your way to the counter. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you prepare the customer’s coffee, he isn’t moving, his pastries go untouched. You wonder if you went too far, did you make him feel uncomfortable? You knew you shouldn’t have touched his face like that, it was a bad idea, too intimate of a touch from someone he barely knows. You silently curse yourself as you finish taking care of the customer.

After they leave, Clyde rises from his table, full plate in hand, and walks up to the counter, eyes trained on the ground.

Guilt eats at you, he won’t even look at you, you really screwed up, you have to apologize, “Clyde…”

He puts the plate up on the counter, eyes still trained on it’s contents, “Could I trouble you for another favor?”

His words catch you unexpectedly, “Of course, whatever you need,” you respond a bit too eagerly. It doesn’t slip past him, because he finally meets your eyes again, searching them for something, before he continues, “Could I take these to go? I got so wrapped up in our conversation that I lost track of the time. Now I’m runnin’ a bit late, but I’d like to eat ‘em when I get in to work.”

Your eyes go wide and you nod, about to turn to the little white bags when he continues, stopping you in your tracks, “Sweetness?”

“Yes?” you respond breathlessly, turning to face him fully, tentatively placing your hands on the counter. He looks at where your hands are placed and reaches his own out, carefully covering one of yours before meeting your eyes again, face and voice soft, “Thank you.”

All at once you feel your shoulders drop as your entire body releases the anxiety that had been building inside of it. Relief softens your features, allows a smile to form, you gently place your other hand on top of his, and give it a squeeze, “You don’t have to thank me, just… come back tomorrow.”

He smiles and nods, “I will.”

You nod, satisfied with his response, and release his hand, resuming your task of bagging up his pastries. He watches you throw a few extra cookies into the bag and he cocks his eyebrow at you in question.

“In case your brother sees them,” you say with a wink, which pulls a soft chuckle out of him.

As he pulls out his wallet and rifles through the bills you pour him a cup of coffee to go, placing it down next to the bag. As he places his money on the counter he looks at the cup and then to you, again with a questioning look. “you barely touched your mug, I owe you a fresh one,” you shrug with feigned innocence, he gives you a knowing smile, but he doesn’t argue. 

Collecting his bag and his cup, he steps away from the counter and gives a quick dip of his head, “See you tomorrow, sweetness.”

“See you tomorrow, Clyde,” you reply with a little wave, before he turns towards the door.


	5. Eight Days a Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn’t until Jimmy turns away, heading for the door, that Clyde finally meets your eyes again. His gaze on you is intense, it takes your breath away, when he finally speaks his voice is deep and low, so low that only you can hear him, “It isn’t just the pie.” 
> 
> Your eyebrows shoot up and your lips part, but nothing comes out of your mouth. Clyde gazes on you a moment longer, eyes drifting for the briefest moment to your parted lips, before turning away. From over his shoulder he peers at you, “See you tomorrow, (Y/N),” and finally heads for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will quickly notice that the format of the story has changed. I have done this in order to keep the story focused, to make sure that the relationship we are here for is being built correctly and efficiently. This is not how every chapter will be going forward, certain days and events will still require their own chapter, but for these "getting to know you" chapters as I've taken to calling them, this seemed like a good way to do things. As always, thank you for the kind comments, the kudos, the messages on Tumblr (Contesa-lui-Alucard), and the general engagement. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story as we start to build towards more intimacy. Next chapter will be our first Clyde POV chapter, which, I know we are all very excited for lol! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

When Clyde comes in on Tuesday morning, you’ve already got his plate made and ready for him. You saw him crossing the street before he arrived, which gave you a chance to pour him his cup of coffee, and you had already made yourself an iced latte, assuming he’d come by around 10:30 like he always seemed to do. You were right, it was 10:30, and there stood Clyde, today in blue jeans and a sky blue button down. His hair seemed more coiffed than usual, not that Clyde didn’t always look put-together, but there was something about the way it was swept back from his face today that gave you pause. 

“Good Mornin’, Sweetness,” Clyde said with a smile.

“Good Morning, Clyde,” you smiled back, balancing the plates and coming out to meet him, “Are you hungry?” you asked while cocking an eyebrow.

“Starvin’,” it came out husky, rough, he bit his lip after the word left his mouth, “Let me get that for you,” he says too quickly, seeming to reluctantly step away from you, towards his table, pulling out your chair for you. 

You place everything down before letting him seat you, looking up at him after you’ve been tucked under the table, “You’re such a gentleman, Clyde. Thank you.” 

“Momma Logan taught me well,” he replies, watching you as he takes his own seat. 

“That she did,” you nod is response, taking a sip from your iced latte.

He holds on to your gaze, seeming to just enjoy the little moment you were sharing, not wanting to let it go just yet. Neither of you says anything, and it passes through the back of your mind that you two must be quite the sight, just sitting here smiling at eachother in silence, but you couldn’t care less how it must look, there was something so comfortable about the air you shared.

Finally, Clyde’s eyes wander down to his plate, taking in the pastry bounty you’ve laid out for him. You wait until he’s taken a few bites of his peach muffin before you speak, “I watched a movie when I got home yesterday.”

Clyde searches your face while he chews, but you don’t know what he’s searching for, “Is’sat so?”

“Mhm,” you nod, waiting for him to ask you what you watched. But instead Clyde continues to search your face, so you decide that maybe he needs prompting, “Are you going to ask me what I watched?”

Clyde’s eyes go wide before his brow crinkles, “Actually… I was trying to guess.”

His response catches you completely off guard, you let out a laugh, “Guess?”

“Yeah,” he nods, his little smile is unsure, perhaps a bit embarrassed, “I was tryin’ to figure out what kinda movies I thought you’d be interested in watchin’.”

You hum, nodding, “Alright, so tell me, and then I’ll do the same for you.”

He nods slowly, eyes raking over your face once more before they drift, he absently takes a bite of his muffin while he thinks. By the time he finishes chewing, he seems to have an answer, “I think you like romance, like those movies they play on the Hallmark channel. They’re all so happy and perfect, like,” he cuts himself off at the end, taking another bite of his muffin, but you aren’t about to let that go, “like what?” you ask, your smile curious. He chews slowly, watching you intently, not speaking again until he had thoroughly swallowed, “they just seem like the kinda movies you’d enjoy, that’s all.”

You could push, but you decide to let it slide. He’s talking, that’s all that matters. You nod, “Alright, so you think I watch Hallmark channel romances. Now it’s my turn,” you study his face, comically over-scrutinizing it, it pulls a little grin from him.

You rub your chin, squinting your eyes, “I think,” you tap your lips with your finger, “I think you like documentaries.” You sit back in your chair and cross your arms, “Oh, and 80’s action flicks.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He runs a hand through his hair while he re-schools his features, “You’re good…” he mumbles, “How did you know?”

You shrug your shoulders, “You look like the kind of guy who can appreciate a good documentary. And who doesn’t love 80’s action flicks? ‘I’ll be baaack’,” you give your best Arnold impersonation which earns you a chuckle from him. He nods, seeming to concede to your logic, “Alright, that’s fair. How about me, was I right?”

“Yes and no,” you respond, tucking a baby hair behind your ear, “I do like romance, just not typically of the Hallmark channel variety.”

He seems to absorb this before replying, “So what did you watch last night?”

“Oceans 11,” you respond with a grin, “I love a good heist.”

This time Clyde’s eyebrows really do join his hairline, before he drags a hand down his face, “Is’sat so,” he mumbles before he returns to his muffin.

~.~.~.~.~

At 10:30am on Wednesday morning, there is still a line of customers. Not many, just a few stragglers, but enough to keep you busy when Clyde arrives. He walks in, pausing in the doorway, waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you do, he quietly smiles and nods at you, before making his way to his table. You grin, nodding back at him in acknowledgement, your hands currently occupied with tying up a box of cookies. He quietly watches you work, eyes following your every movement, the way your fingers tie the strings around the box, the way you punch in the customer’s total on the cash register, the way you count out the customer’s change, the way you smile and wave at each customer in farewell, his eyes study every detail like you’re performing some sort of intricate dance. You can’t help the nervous twisting in the pit of your stomach, it’s flattering how closely he watches you, to the point where it feels almost undeserved. You’re just going about business, no one has ever watched you so closely, and with such rapture, but Clyde doesn’t relent. Even when you’ve taken care of the last customer, when you’re preparing his plate and your coffees, when you’re walking towards him and setting everything down in front of him, his eyes never leave you once. His expression is soft, admiration plastered across it, you’re both embarrassed and flattered, unsure of how to swallow this kind of attention. 

You can barely meet his eyes, so full of undisguised adoration, “Good Morning, Clyde.”

“Good Mornin’, Sweetness,” he acknowledges dreamily.

You sit down across from him and gesture to his mug, “Have you ever thought about trying something different?”

Caught confused by your question, he looks down at the mug and back up to you, “Somethin’ other ‘an coffee?”

“I meant like, a latte or something. A cappuccino. As a café, I do make things other than just black coffee,” your expression holds mirth, which he reflects with a shade of embarrassment, “Truth be told Sweetness, I’ve never had anythin’ fancier than just a regular ol’ coffee. I don’t know much about lattes and such.”

“Would you like to try one?” you tilt your head, eyes hopeful.

“Well, I…” Clyde seems to hesitate.

Thinking fast, you scoop up your iced latte and offer it to him, “You can take a sip of mine first, if you’d like. This is an iced latte, lightly sweetened. You can see how you feel about it, and if you think you might like to try it, let me know and I’ll make you one, hot or cold.”

He mulls over your offer for a moment, looking from the latte to you, then back to the latte, before finally reaching out to take it, “Alright,” he nods, he goes to grasp the glass and your fingers brush, the light caress of those big, thick digits sends an electric current up your spine. You do your best to suppress your reaction. 

Clyde tentatively brings the straw to his lips, eyes never leaving your face, wraps his plush lips around the straw and takes a sip. He swallows slowly, eyes drifting off in thought before finding yours again and nodding, “A bit sweet for my likin’ but otherwise… it’s nice. Could I maybe try a hot one?”

He seems so unsure, you almost want to accuse him of lying, but even if he is, is it so bad that he’s pretending to like something, or willing to try something, just to make you happy?

“Yeah, of course!” he hands the latte back to you and this time you’re ready, you purposely let your fingers brush his, sliding yours over his as you slot them in between his in order to grip the glass. You keep your eyes trained on his face for the whole transaction, watching as his jaw clenches and works, it’s obvious that he’s struggling to keep his expression impassive. Feeling empowered, you bring the drink back up to your mouth, grasp the straw between your fingertips, and wrap your lips around it. His eyes are trained on your lips, and in some unconscious response he licks his own. You take a sip, pop the straw out of your mouth, run your tongue along your bottom lip and smile. His eyelashes flutter ever so slightly before he seems to get ahold of himself again, eyes darting away as he clears his throat. Satisfied by his reaction, you put the glass down and stand, “Be right back!” you sing-song as you head towards the counter.

As you prepare the hot latte you give yourself a minute to revel in the reaction you just pulled out of him. He may be shy, and it may still be early, but if what just happened was any indication, he’s attracted to you. And judging by the thrill that ran down your spine and the warmth that pooled in your belly all at a slight brush of fingers, the feeling was certainly mutual. 

You return to Clyde with his fresh latte in hand and place it down in front of him, “Give this a try,” you say as you take your seat across from him again, “you don’t seem like an iced coffee kind of guy, so this might hit the spot better.” His gaze lingers on the mug for a moment before those honey orbs flick up towards you from under his lashes, eyebrows knit, “You’re too good ta’ me, Sweetness.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, it was his turn to catch you off guard, in that moment the only thought flitting through your hazy brain was that the little pout he was giving you needed to be kissed off of those luscious lips immediately. You remember how to breathe and give him a smile, resting your chin on your fist, “It simply wouldn’t do to treat my favorite customer any other way.”

He watches you for a moment with an unreadable expression before his pout finally relaxes into a small smile, “Thank you, Sweetness.”

He hesitates, looking down in thought, before the smile cracks up at the corner into a smirk, “This kind of customer service is what keeps me coming back.” 

There he goes again, that little flirty side he lets peek out now and then. Your delighted reaction to it is always immediate, you want to encourage it, foster it, pull it to the forefront. You suspect he hides it out of shyness, so you make it your mission to give him positive reinforcement every time it shows. Your expression turns flirty to match, “Management will be very happy to hear that, I’ll be sure to let them know. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get a raise.”

“Think they’ll promote ya ta’ manager?” he asks with a cheeky little grin, it makes you want to pinch that cheek.

“If they do, we’ll have to celebrate. After all, I couldn’t have done it without you,” you stick your tongue out at him and giggle. He chuckles in response, the honeyed gold of his eyes dances, “Drinks on me. But I warn ya, it ain’t gonna be coffee,” he gestures to his mug.

“That’s fine by me, I don’t even want to look at coffee after I lock up,” you shake your head and finish with a roll of your eyes. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says before taking a sip from his mug.

You wonder if maybe he’s building up to something, if maybe he’s going to ask you out, but he doesn’t bring it up again.

~.~.~.~

Thursday at 10:30am sharp, the bell above the door rings, and you know who it is without having to turn around. You immediately set to work fixing him a plate, loading it up with oatmeal cookies and a slice of peach pie. You pour him a mug of coffee, mix yourself an iced latte, and exit out from behind the counter, finding his exactly where you expected him to be, sitting at his table, smiling up at you, “Good Mornin, Sweetness.”

“Good Morning, Clyde,” you respond as you set everything down on the table and take the seat across from him, “How are you today?”

“I’m doin’ just fine,” he replies with a nod, “How about yourself?”

“No complaints,” you shrug, “I picked up a book yesterday that’s been on my mind all day, I’m looking forward to finishing it tonight.”

He looks at you with surprise and interest, “a book?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I stopped at that book store over on Lark Street, what’s it called…” you tap your finger against your chin as you search for the name that has temporarily eluded you.

“Taylor’s?” Clyde offers meekly. 

“That’s the one!” you exclaim, “You know it?”

He rubs the back of his neck absently, “Yeah I know it. I go there pretty often myself, actually.”

Your surprise gives way to a knowing look, “a fellow bookworm, I see. I’m happy to hear it. Are you reading anything at the moment?”

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance, but the shy air doesn’t dissipate, “I just finished one.”

You stare at him intently, trying to encourage him to continue, “What was it?”

“It was a medieval book, it had five separate stories,” he continues to hesitate, clearly embarrassed to admit what he read, but he should know by now you would never judge him. And he must know, because he swallows and continues, “It was called ‘The Arthurian Romances’, by a man named Chrétien de Troyes,” his eyes are almost pleading, begging you not to laugh at him. You would never dream of it.

You gasp and grin, because as it turns out, “That’s what I’m reading!”

Clyde seems to freeze, as if unsure of whether or not this is a joke being played on him. He studies your face for a moment, searching for doubt, but you are practically bursting with genuine joy. Who knew Clyde Logan would be interested in Medieval romance?

Tentatively, eyebrows drawn in doubt, Clyde asks, voice cracking on the word, “Really?”

You nod vehemently, doing your damnest to show him your honesty, “Yes, really! Although, it isn’t my first time reading it, just my first time in a long time. I read it in college for one of my literature courses, I read a lot of medieval works, actually, my literary focus was on medieval lit. But it’s been so long since I last read it, and I was in the mood for it. All of my books are back home though, so I had to buy a fresh copy, but I figured I’d see if I could donate it when I finished.”

Clyde sits in stunned silence, eyebrows raised, as if he doesn’t know how to absorb everything you’ve just said. You decide to prompt him a little, break him from his shock, “Have you read other medieval lit before, or was this your first?”

It does the trick, he seems to find himself again, blinking back some of the surprise, before shaking his head, “I’ve read others. I guess I like the idea of chivalry, of how brave and noble the knights are, and how devoted they are to their,” here he pauses, as if searching for the right word, “damsels. How devoted they are to protecting them and their honor.”

You nod knowingly at him, leave it to Clyde to fancy these chivalrous knights, Clyde himself seemed to live by the code of chivalry, he would’ve made an excellent knight, “What story is your favorite?”

Clyde ponders your question for a moment, and answers with uncertainty, “It was ‘Lanval’, from The Lais of Marie de France. But after reading ‘The Arthurian Romances’, I think it changed.” Lanval, a knight of King Arthur’s court, who falls in love with a fairy woman, and shares a relationship with her, under the condition that he tell no one of her existence. Queen Guinevere flirts with him, to which he has no interest, but this angers the Queen, and she forces King Arthur to punish Lanval unless he reveals his fairy lover. Reluctantly he does, and in a wonderful twist, his fairy love reveals herself, and then takes Lanval away with her to the fairy realm. An interesting favorite, something definitely worth mulling over, but not right now.

You continue to entreat him with curiosity, “The Lais of Marie de France are excellent, but so is Chretien. Which story swayed you?”

He continues to look pensive, “I know that a lot of these stories have double meanings, so I’m hopin’ the meanin’ I read from this one is a good one, and not one that makes you think I’m…”

You shake your head vehemently before he can even finish that thought, “Literature is up to interpretation. No interpretation is wrong, nor does it make you a bad person.”

He seems to accept this, nodding slowly, before finally responding, “Erec and Enide.”

Your expression slides from surprise to confusion, before resting on a smile, “Clyde Logan.”

His eyes dart up to yours in concern, before flickering down to your smile, seeming to register it. 

You spread it a little wider, trying to show him that your intentions are good, “I had no idea you were such a romantic. Erec and Enide is one of the purest Medieval romances I may have ever read. How could I possibly think you’re a bad person for liking it?”

He lets out a breath that he must have been holding, shrugging at you, “Erec is very adamant with Enide ‘bout her remainin’ silent while they take their journey. I’ve read people interpret that quite a few differen’ ways, and not all of ‘em are pleasant, so I guess I…” he tapers off with another shrug.

“I don’t care how other people interpret it,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand, leaning in towards him, “I care how YOU interpret it. So how do you interpret it, Clyde?”

Clyde’s eyes go wide, studying your face, before looking away in thought. A moment passes before he finally responds, “Well, I… I guess I see it as, each of them had their reasons. Erec wanted to see if Enide would listen to him, but Enide wanted to look out for Erec, even if it went against his wishes, even if it meant she’d be punished. Erec had his reasons, but Enide did what she thought was right by him, and I guess I just…” Clyde hesitates to finish. You debate pressing him this time, even though every fiber of your being is dying to know what it is he wants to say. Clyde hesitantly meets your eyes, seemingly searching for something, his gaze met with nothing but encouragement. He takes a deep breath, looking away again, and decides to continue, “I guess I just like the idea of a woman, a wife, who always has your best interests at heart, even when you don’t know it, even if it went against what you’d asked her to do. A woman who loved you enough to do whatever it took to take care of you. I guess that’s why I like it.”

He hazards a glance at you, his golden gaze searching your face for your reaction, but he’s met with nothing unpleasant, just your understanding smile. You nod at him, “I like your interpretation, Clyde.”

“You do?” he asks tentatively, still searching your face, you smirk at him, as if to say, would I lie to you?

“You do,” this time he says it as a statement instead of a question, because he has found his answer in the quirk of your lips and the arch of your brow.

The bell above the door chimes and you get up to take care of your customer, giving Clyde’s bicep a squeeze as you pass.

~.~.~.~.~

It’s not yet 9:00am, the Friday morning rush is in full swing, the line is to the door, and you are hustling to get coffees poured and pastries bagged as fast as you can manage, but even the New York Pep in your step doesn’t seem to be enough to make a dent in the line. The bell over the door rings for the 100th time that morning, and out of the corner of your eye you see the silhouettes of two large men step inside. It’s late for the construction workers though, the thought forces you to turn fully and look at who has entered, only to recognize who it is. Black and red plaid stretches across a broad chest, tucked into black jeans that hug thick thighs just right. Long dark hair is combed back on one side, sweeping it away from a pale, beauty mark speckled face. Full, rosy lips seem to let out a little puff of air, as a tall frame peeks over and around the crowd, honey eyes searching the counter. When you meet his gaze, the little puff he let out seems to be sucked right back in, before a small grin appears and a shy hand lifts to give a quick wave. You suck in a breath, butterflies bursting free inside of you, enormously pleased to see him seem so happy to see you. You grin, a grin so broad and blinding it causes some of your patrons to turn towards you, and you wave back at him. You are suddenly filled with a renewed sense of urgency, this line has got to go, and begin moving in double-time. You’re so distracted by your joy at seeing him, that you almost forget for a moment that he walked in with someone else. In between serving customers you steal a glance at Clyde’s companion. He’s a head shorter than Clyde, stout, but solid, built like a linebacker, and with similar facial hair to Clyde. Your eyes dart back up to Clyde who watches you intently, before his companion draws his attention away. 

When Clyde and his companion finally make it to the counter, your beaming grin is right back where it belongs. You’re practically panting from how fast you were trying to serve your prior customers, so you do your best to take a deep breath before you speak, “Good Morning, Clyde!”

Clyde gives you his crooked grin in return, “Good Mornin’, Sweetness. How goes it today?”

Even though your eyes are firmly planted on Clyde, you can’t help but catch Clyde’s companion looking between the two of you with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Oh you know, just a typical Friday morning. Everyone has somewhere to be!” your muscles begin to relax ever so slightly, Clyde’s calming presence taking its effect.

Clyde nods in acknowledgement, “I can’t say I’ve ever seen it so busy. No wonder you’re so tired by the time I get here.”

You giggle and nod, “Now you understand why I like to sit with you when you come in. You’re the most relaxing part of my day!”

You immediately blush, was that too bold of you? And in front of Clyde’s companion, no less. You quickly move to change the subject, even though the matching blush on Clyde’s face is already quite evident, “Speaking of which, what brings you here so early today? And with a friend, no less,” you turn to acknowledge Clyde’s companion with a smile, but the smile almost falters when you see how carefully the companion is scrutinizing you.

Clyde clears his throat, still evidently trying to control his reaction to your prior statement, “Pardon my rudeness, this here is my brother Jimmy, we’re on our way to his daughter’s pageant.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, this is his brother! Not quite what you pictured, and yet, the resemblance is there. At the sound of his name, Jimmy seems to be jostled from his thoughts and the scrutinization turns into an easy-going smile. He extends his hand to you, “Jimmy Logan, it’s a pleasure to meet ya, Miss--?”

You take his hand, “(Y/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Jimmy. Clyde has told me so much about you.” 

Jimmy raises an eyebrow at this and turns to fix Clyde with a smirk and an inquiring look, “Oh he has, has he?”

Clyde visibly swallows. Jimmy suddenly drops the look and turns back to you, smile once again easy, “I’m surprised to hear it. It ain’t easy to get my brother talkin’, is all. You must be special.”

Your mouth does an imitation of a fish for a moment while you find your words, shaking your head, “I don’t think It’s me, I think it’s my pie.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows raise and you cringe at how that came out, because you already know what’s coming next. A smirk spreads across Jimmy’s face, “Oh I’m sure it is.”

You clear your throat and attempt to change the subject before the embarrassment of the situation burns you up alive, “So what can I get for you two? It sounds like you have somewhere to be, so I won’t keep you.”

You finally risk a glance at Clyde, who is as red as his shirt, jaw working, eyes glued to the counter. You take in a sharp breath at the sight, deciding you needed to put some distance between you and the Logan brothers immediately before you said anything else stupid, “Actually, let me surprise you!”

You scurry off, darting around the counter, grabbing and bagging pastries and filling coffee cups, glancing only briefly at the brothers, just long enough to see Jimmy smirking devilishly up at Clyde, who still wouldn’t look anywhere but at the counter.

You return with the goods and do your best to smile up at Clyde, even though you’re dying with embarrassment inside, but he still won’t meet your eyes, “I hope you two have a good time at the pageant. Good luck to your little girl.”

Clyde nods, and moves to take out his wallet, “Thank you (Y/N).”

“Thank you (Y/N), I can’t wait to taste your pie,” Jimmy says with a wink, scooping the bags and cups off of the counter. Clyde visibly bristles at the remark, before putting down some bills. 

It isn’t until Jimmy turns away, heading for the door, that Clyde finally meets your eyes again. His gaze on you is intense, it takes your breath away, when he finally speaks his voice is deep and low, so low that only you can hear him, “It isn’t just the pie.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up and your lips part, but nothing comes out of your mouth. Clyde gazes on you a moment longer, eyes drifting for the briefest moment to your parted lips, before turning away. From over his shoulder he peers at you, “See you tomorrow, (Y/N),” and finally heads for the door.

You don’t breathe until the Logans are out of sight. You spend the next hour pivoting between banging your head against the wall in embarrassment, and clutching your chest in need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters depicted from Logan Lucky.**


	6. Next to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Now with updated 3rd person perspective!~
> 
> Mellie exhales with frustration, “Everything I just listed, along with all of the other crazy sh*t you did to my friends, is the reason you ain’t ever gonna meet (Y/N). I already warned her about the two of you, she knows you’re bad news!”
> 
> Clyde freezes on the spot, did she just say, “(Y/N)?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UPDATE 5/31/2020: I have changed the perspective that this chapter was written in. Originally it was first person, we were Clyde, but I have since changed it to third person. I hope it flows a little better now! Thank you to those of you who reached out to point this out, as always I am open to criticism and opinions, I really do take them to heart!**
> 
> Title is the song "Next to You" by The Police
> 
> I cannot even begin to tell you how desperately I tried to keep Clyde in character. This kept sliding into almost Kylo Ren territory but I kept pulling it back. I wanted to find the perfect balance of softness, sadness, and worship. I feel like Clyde has some self-loathing in him, but I tried very hard to keep things in the sympathy territory and not let them fall into the pathetic territory. Clyde is a strong man, but he has demons, so now that we’re in his head I felt I could better explore the demons that we don’t otherwise see, the ones he keeps hidden away, far from Sweetness’s eyes. You are going to learn, very quickly, that I think Clyde would worship the ground Sweetness walks on, because that’s just the kind of chivalrous gentleman he is. And now that we’re in his head, I was finally able to put that idea on full display. I hope ya’ll have a worship kink lol.

**~.~.~Clyde’s POV~.~.~**

To say it had been a long day, would be an understatement. From the minute Clyde and Jimmy left Sip o’ Sunshine Jimmy had not stopped side-eying him. When he climbed back into Jimmy’s pick-up, as Jimmy handed him the bags of pastries and his coffee, Jimmy tried to bring it up, “So what was that all about, back there, huh?” But Clyde shot back, “Mind your own business,” and so Jimmy didn’t press. Jimmy knew enough to know that, while Clyde didn’t lose his temper often, if he pushed him hard enough he would, and Clyde wailing on him right before Sadie’s pageant just wouldn’t do. One fist or no, Clyde was bigger than him, he could at least give ‘im a good shiner, and Jimmy certainly wasn’t looking to get himself one of those. But while he didn’t say anything else, he kept lookin’, and Clyde knew, he just knew, that those wheels in that brain of Jimmy’s were turnin’, he was not about to drop this any time soon.

And honestly, it had been Clyde’s own fault. If Clyde hadn’t been so desperate to see (Y/N) then he never woulda suggested stopping there on the way to Sadie’s pageant. He shouldn’t have, he should’ve known how flustered he gets when he’s around her, how Jimmy was sharp as a tack and would pick up on it all immediately, and needle at it. He shoulda just waited, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t go one day without seein’ her, without seein’ that big, bright smile she gives him every time he walks through the door, like he’s the best thing to happen to her that day. He knows it ain’t true, but damn if it don’t make him feel good. 

Everything she does makes him feel good. The way she listens so intently when he’s ramblin’, like she really cares ‘bout what he has to say. And she’s so smart, she discusses things with him, has these opinions and ideas that are brilliant, and acts like what comes out of his mouth is anywhere near as good. She likes all of the things he likes, the books he likes to read, the music he likes to listen to, the shows and movies he likes to watch, he ain’t never met someone he had so much in common with.  
Clyde could listen to her for hours, that lyrical voice of hers weaving wonderful opinions, that beautiful laugh that tinkles like the wind chimes his momma used to hang on the porch. He can’t believe how many times he’s caught himself carryin’ on about stuff, sayin’ so much more than he should, and yet she always seems to want to hear it. Something comes over him when she’s around, something that loosens his jaw and opens a window in his chest.

And just like the sun, she’s so warm and bright, he can never seem to keep his eyes off of her for long, but just like staring at the sun itself, it hurts. It hurts to watch the way her hips sway, to trace the outline of her… derriere when she bends over. It hurts to follow the quirk of her precious pillowy lips when she smiles at him, and imagine what they might feel like, taste like. It hurts to watch the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles or laughs at something he’s said. Every time he’s with her, something seems to squeeze his heart tight, like a vice, squeezing something out of it, but he don’t know what, all he knows is that it hurts. He spends the rest of the day aching, knowing all at once that seeing her again will be both a balm and a new wound, but he wants it anyway.

Their earlier exchange was still playing over in his mind, did she really mean it when she called his company relaxing? Did she really take some sort of comfort in him, the same way he did in her? It seemed too good to be true, maybe it had just been a joke. Her face, after he decided to drag some kind of boldness from somewhere outa him and tell her that it wasn’t just the pie that was special, had made his cock jump. The way those luscious lips had parted, his dirty mind had made him picture himself pressing his own against them, sliding his tongue between them to taste that sweet peach mouth, he pictured those delicate lips doing something awfully naughty to him, and he knew he had to get out of there immediately before he dirtied her up with his terrible thoughts.

He’d often caught himself dreamin’ about her, all glowy and bright, brighter ‘an the sun, in her frilly little yellow dress, beamin’ at him. All he’d wanted to do was reach out an’ touch her, slip his hands over that little waist of hers and pull her into him, wrap her up tight in his arms and hold her close. She’d smell like peaches on a summer day, and he swore he could really smell them when he woke up. The first time he dreamt about her he’d woken up painfully hard, he wrapped his hand around his base and squeezed, trying unsuccessfully to stave it off. Unable to stop himself he began to stroke long and slow up his throbbing shaft, his mind filled with her, imagining himself pulling that frilly yellow dress up over her head to expose white lacey underthings that hid nothing. Licking and biting every inch of flesh he could find, sucking on her pert nipples right through the lace. Slowly he’d pull off her panties, taking his time revealing her sweet center, before kissing and biting trails up the insides of her thighs until finally reaching her cunt. It would be sweet and juicy, just like a peach, and he’d devour it until she couldn’t form words, until she was screaming and pulling his hair. And then he’d work his way back up her body, kissing and biting and bruising, marking her perfect skin so everyone would know whose she was, until his large, throbbing cock was lined up with her entrance. He’d lean back, prop her ankles on his shoulders, dig his fingers into her hips and push inside, she’d moan and writhe and pant his name like a prayer. He’s so big, it wouldn’t go in easy, but she’d take him all into her tight, wet heat, and then he’d start thrusting, and, and, and, his brain stutters as he spills hot cum all over his fist and stomach, and at first he’s so overcome with his orgasm that he forgets it was only a fantasy, but once the high dissipates he feels terrible, absolutely filthy for doing what he did. She had been nothing but sweet to him, and here he was strokin’ his dick while he thought about doing terrible things to her. It wasn’t right. From then on, he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and so every erection since had been tucked up into his waistband and willed to disappear, unwilling to touch himself to the thought of her because someone so perfect didn’t deserve to be sullied like that with his dirty, possessive needs.

She was bright and beautiful and kind and smart, and he was a broken man hiding in the dark, she was much too good for the likes of him. But he was weak, too weak to stay away from her, so every day he found himself driving over to Sip o’ Sunshine, craving those moments he got to spend with her, basking in her sunlight. 

And now he was payin’ the price, because once Jimmy got ahold of something, he didn’t ever let it go. And this time, Jimmy had managed to catch Clyde goin’ moon-eyed over the sun herself. 

After the pageant Jimmy drove them both to Duck Tape so Clyde could open up. Mellie would be coming by later on, as usual, and Clyde prayed that Jimmy didn’t say nothin’ to her about what had happened at Sip o’ Sunshine that morning. 

When Mellie did finally show, she was chatting on her cell phone with someone, laughing and smiling. Clyde found himself grateful, not only to see Mellie happy, of course, but because this might provide enough of a distraction for Jimmy.

Sure enough, when Mellie hung up with a, “See ya tomorrow, darlin’!” Jimmy zeroed in, “And now who was that?”

Mellie glared, “Nobody you need ta’ concern yo’self with.”

Mellie should know better ‘an anyone that that just wouldn’t do, and it sure as shit didn’t, because Jimmy smirked, “If you’re makin’ plans with Joe Bang, you do know that we already know about you two, right?”

Mellie rolls her eyes and turns to Clyde, “Hi Clyde.”

“Hi Mellie,” Clyde nods, “You want the usual?”

She nods in agreement, “Thank you, Clyde,” before turning back to Jimmy, “I know you know about Joe Bang, moron. It wasn’t him.”

Jimmy’s eyes narrow, thinking about what she’d just said, “You seein’ someone else?”

“No,” Mellie snaps at him, “Joe’s enough of a handful, I don’t need any more trouble.”

Clyde places Mellie’s drink down in front of her and she turns to sip it, Jimmy turning to Clyde with a look of confusion, but Clyde only shrugs. Clyde didn’t like to be pried, so he certainly wasn’t about to do it to someone else. But that just ain’t Jimmy, so he presses on, “Is it a friend?”

Mellie appears to think for a moment, while slowly sipping her drink. She glances up at Clyde, and then glances over at Jimmy, “It is.”

“So if that’s all it is, then why couldn’t ya just say so? Why’s it such a big deal?” Jimmy throws his hands up in exasperation.

“Because you always manage to find a way to scare my friends off, that’s why!” Mellie says with a sharp poke to Jimmy’s chest, “I like this one, I don’t need you scarin’ her off on me.”

Jimmy looks both hurt and angry, “Scare ‘em off?! I ain’t never scared any a your friends off!”

Mellie turns on her stool to face Jimmy fully now, hands on her hips. Clyde backs up a step, this isn’t going to be pretty, “Oh yeah? What about Jessica? Who caught you sittin’ on Clyde’s shoulders outside my bedroom window when she slept over.”

“We were just tryin’ to play a prank on ya,” Jimmy responds defensively.

“Or what about Felicia, who came outa our bathroom one night to find Clyde all dressed up like Jason Voorhees while you took pictures!” Mellie puts up two fingers on her right hand.

“Okay those pictures were hysterical though, her face was priceless!” Jimmy chuckles.

Mellie picks up another finger, “or Nicole, when you pretended to drown at the lake and got her to give you mouth-to-mouth, only to start making out with her!”

“Okay I blame ‘The Sandlot’ for that one, I was young and impressionable,” Jimmy’s hands come up defensively.

“You were 18!” Mellie practically shouts.

“I rest my case,” Jimmy crosses his arms.

Mellie exhales with frustration, “Everything I just listed, along with all of the other crazy shit you did to my friends, is the reason you ain’t ever gonna meet (Y/N). I already warned her about the two of you, she knows you’re bad news!”

Clyde freezes on the spot, did she just say, “(Y/N)?”

Mellie turns toward Clyde with a look of exasperation, “Aw come on now, Clyde. Don’t you go gettin’ any ideas. I know Jimmy was usually the mastermind but I still ain’t riskin’ it!”

Jimmy pipes up, eyes sliding between Clyde and Mellie, “(Y/N), huh? Ain’t that a pretty name. if we promise not to mess with her, will you tell us how ya’ll met?”

Mellie doesn’t look even slightly convinced, “I know you ain’t gonna drop this until I do, but mark my words Jimmy Logan, if you so much as look at (Y/N) I WILL tell Sylvie about that one time in high school when you—“

“Enough! Enough!” Jimmy shouts, leaning forward and planting his palm over Mellie’s mouth, “I promise, alright? Sheesh, girl.”

Mellie crosses her arms and looks between Clyde and Jimmy again. Clyde hopes that his expression is calm, he really does, because if what he fears is true, there ain’t nothin’ calm about his insides right now.

“She came into the salon, a few weeks back, lookin’ for a haircut. I knew right away she wasn’t from ‘round here,” _You’re not alone_ , that’s what he’d said to her, that day when he bared a little piece of his soul to her, offering it up like a sacrifice to be cleansed by her sunlight. _Neither are you_ , he hears it, hears her saying it to him, with her delicate little hand resting on his prosthetic. She does stand out, just like he does, but she stands out for such different reasons, she stands out the way a goddess stands out amongst mortal men. “but she was so… pleasant. Friendly. We got to talkin’ and she told me a bit about herself. Before I knew it, we were exchangin’ phone numbers,” Mellie finishes with a shrug and a small smile, “We’ve been hanging out ever since. She’s a lot of fun, girl knows how to party, things must be wild in New York. You’d never know it either, with that frilly little dress she wears at the café she owns, I almost didn’t believe my eyes the first time I saw her dressed to go out.” Mellie laughs. An image, unable to be suppressed, of his sweet little sunbeam in a tight little black dress, thin fabric pulling across perfect breasts, her firm, pert ass on full display, surfaces in his brain. He clears his throat and bends over, pretending to look for a rag, all the while willing the unwanted tightness in his pants to go away. When he resurfaces, Jimmy pins him with a scrutinizing stare. 

Jimmy knows. 

Jimmy knows that this girl Mellie befriended and his sweetheart are one and the same.

Jimmy knows, Clyde knows, the only one who doesn’t know is Mellie, and Clyde’s not about to tell her. She seemed adamant that he and Jimmy stay away from her. If Jimmy opens his mouth now, it’s all over.

Jimmy looks back to Mellie and smiles, “Well I’m glad you made a new friend. I hope ya’ll have fun together tomorrow night.”

Mellie nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns back to her drink, sipping, before fixing her gaze back on Clyde, “So now that I dropped a secret tonight, are you gonna tell us why you were all smiles last week, Clyde?”

Clyde practically chokes, eyes going wide, “I don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout, Mellie,” he manages to stutter out.

But Mellie is not convinced, resting her arms on the bar counter and smirking up at him, “You think I don’t know my own brother? I’ve never seen you so dreamy-eyed before. Is it a customer?” Dropping her voice down an octave, her eyes skating around the bar, “Is she here right now?”

“No,” Clyde says with more force than was intended, but Mellie doesn’t flinch, “Where’d you meet her then?”

Clyde has three options: deny, lie, or tell the truth. It’s pointless to deny, he obviously wasn’t concealing his emotions as well as he thought he was. Telling the truth is out of the question, not after she just expressed how much she doesn’t want him and Jimmy involved with her. That left him with only one option, “The VA.”

Mellie perks up, “Is that so? Ain’t that nice. She a nurse?”

“Yup,” it comes out slowly, difficultly. Clyde don’t want to lie, he really doesn’t, but Mellie hasn’t left him with any other choices.

Mellie’s expression is soft, happy, she seems genuinely glad to hear this, little does she know…

“What’s her name?” Mellie asks, and surprisingly, Clyde knows exactly what to say. It pops right up in the front of his mind, no hesitation, “Her name’s Enide.”

Mellie coos, a sound that’s soft and happy, and reaches out a hand to pat his, “I’m happy for you Clyde, I hope things work out. I’d love to meet her one of these days.”

Clyde nods, the irony is not lost on him, if only you knew Mellie, you two are already quite close.

Mellie goes back to her drink and Clyde takes the opportunity to glance at Jimmy. Jimmy doesn’t say a word, just stares at Clyde, his expression unreadable. As well as he knows Jimmy, Clyde has no idea what Jimmy’s thinking right now, and it scares him. He could end this all right now, could tell Mellie what happened this morning, could see right through Clyde’s bluff about Enide for what it was, and Clyde would… well, if Mellie didn’t want him involved with (Y/N) then he’d honor Mellie’s wishes, even though it would…

Clyde shakes the thoughts away, he can’t think about all of this right now. All that mattered was that Jimmy didn’t say anything. And right now, what Mellie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. And besides, it wasn’t like anything serious was even going on, Clyde was just her customer. She was just a beautiful young woman who happened to own a café that he happened to visit every day, nothing more. And yet, he knew he couldn’t tell Mellie, even if nothing was actually happening, because Mellie would know. She’d know that he’d been having thoughts, selfish thoughts about that beautiful woman. He could spend the rest of his life only ever doing what he’s doing now and it would be enough. It would be.

Jimmy takes one last look at Clyde before turning back to his drink, a thoughtful look on his face.

The rest of the night is relatively quiet. Mellie chats about her clients, and about how work is coming along on the antique Earl gave her. Earl, a regular at Duck Tape and a friend of the Logans, was a mechanic by trade, and had acquired a real junker of a ’67 Plymouth Fury. But he though Mellie might enjoy the challenge of fixin’ her up, and so the two had been getting together on Sundays to work on her. She was a real beaut’ already, and by the time Mellie was done with her she’d be a dream, Mellie knows her cars afterall. Jimmy talks about how things are going at the Loew’s, how the new house is coming along nicely, and that all of his stuff will be out of the trailer by the end of the month. Ever since Clyde’d gotten out of jail he’d been stayin’ with Mellie, but he’d been teasin’ the idea of moving back to the trailer on his own. Mellie didn’t agree with him though, she worried about him, but he’d been proving that the new arm Jimmy had gotten him was making a lot of things easier for him to do on his own now. Clyde missed having a little independence, even though he understood why she worried, he did still need her help with certain things, but maybe he also missed having a little privacy. Maybe he wanted to have someone over that Mellie might not approve of, so he certainly couldn’t have them over Mellie’s house. Maybe he wanted to prove to said individual that even though his lower forearm and hand might be missin’, he was still fully capable of bein’ a man. He had fought for his country, he ran his own bar, he could be a provider.

Right around 11 Mellie called it a night, giving Jimmy a kiss on the cheek and a wave to Clyde, “See you at home, Clyde.”

Clyde and Jimmy say goodbye to her and Jimmy turns to resume his conversation with one of the regulars, but not before giving Clyde a knowing look. 

He doesn’t bring her up to Clyde again though, not even after the bar has emptied out and Clyde’s closing up for the night. Clyde doesn’t know if he’s relieved, or worried. Silence from Jimmy was never a good thing.

When Clyde heads home that night, he does his best to quietly move through Mellie’s house, not wanting to wake her. He crawls into bed and closes his eyes, exhausted, but just like most nights he’s unable to fall asleep. His mind is too busy racing with unwanted thoughts, unacknowledged fears, but there, behind it all, there’s a little ray of light, a small sunbeam. He follows it, follow its welcoming warmth, until it leads him to her. That bright and shining smile is on her face, the one that’s just for him, and even though his chest is aching, he drifts off, safe and secure in her sweet sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looked to me like Clyde moved in with Mellie at the end of Logan Lucky, so for the purposes of this story, he still lives there with her, but the trailer that he and Jimmy lived in together still belongs to them. I wonder if I'm going somewhere with this, hmm... hehe


	7. Wouldn't It Be Nice?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You give his shoulder a squeeze, to match the way your heart clenches at the sight of how he’s gazing at you, and smile, “You deserve it just for being you Clyde, that’s all,” it’s so overwhelming, the way you feel receiving that sort of adoring gaze from him, no one has ever looked at you like that before, without even realizing it you bring your hand up from his shoulder to tuck his hair behind his ear, his locks so soft on the backs of your fingers. You let your fingertips graze along the shell of his ear, and you realize you never noticed his ears before, always hidden under his thick ebony mane. They’re a bit large, but they’re adorable. Your gesture widens his grin and the whole image once again makes you think of how endearing and boyish he looks sometimes, beneath this intense façade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by The Beach Boys
> 
> I'm thrilled by how well-received the Clyde POV chapter was, thank you as always for all of your comments! After working the kinks out of it, I'm quite proud of it, and I look forward to giving him another POV chapter in the future. It's good to check in with him once in a while, to keep our story in perspective. Speaking of chapters that I'm proud of, I hope you all like this one, because Clyde and Sweetness's relationship is about to shift gears yet again. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Yesterday had been such a roller coaster, meeting Clyde’s brother, the awkward exchange. Clyde’s parting comment had played in your brain on a loop ever since he left, making you unsure of whether you anticipated or dreaded seeing him today. Not for dread of seeing him, of course, but dread for how embarrassed you felt, for making such a scene in front of his brother. It was clear that Clyde had been uncomfortable, you felt foolish for acting the way you did, saying what you said. And yet, even after all of that, Clyde had basically called you special, and told you he’d be back, so should you really be concerned? 

Either way, you were restless all morning, turning over and over again what you were going to say to him, how you were going to broach a conversation with him, worried he’d revert to clamming up. When the rush died down you busied yourself as best you could, trying to distract yourself from your tumultuous feelings. You were so lost in your thoughts, refilling napkins in a dispenser on one of the tables with your back to the door, that you didn’t even notice when he came in. 

“Good Mornin’, Sw—,“ he began, startling you out of your wits. You jumped, dropping the napkin dispenser and spun around to be greeted by a familiar broad chest bedecked in blue plaid standing right behind you. You watched that blue plaid chest suck in a sharp breath and take a step back from you. You dart your eyes up to find Clyde looking as startled as you, and immediately you felt horrible, “I’m sorry!” you exclaim, taking a step towards him, but Clyde’s entire body goes rigid, his expression tense, so you begin to babble, “I’m so sorry Clyde, I didn’t hear you come in, I was so lost in my own head I didn’t even hear you, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you take another step closer and gently place your hands on his ribs, hoping the contact will sooth him. It must work, because Clyde’s expression softens into concern, and tentatively his hands come up to your arms, his right hand gently curling around your left bicep. His eyes are melted pools of honey, reflected in how thickly his voice drips out, “Are you sure?” he swallows, his eyes darting between yours, “Are ya sure I didn’t, I didn’t frighten ya?”

“No!” you all but shout, face twisted in concern, “No, absolutely not,” your grip tightens on his ribs, “I didn’t hear you come in, so I wasn’t expecting to find you standing behind me, that’s all. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the dummy who’s too busy getting lost in her own head to pay attention to the world around her.”

He doesn’t look convinced, his eyes are still searching yours for some kind of confirmation, or proof. He lets out a shaky breath and his eyes drift away from yours, down to the floor, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ta’ startle ya,” his thumb begins to rub slow swipes across your bicep, and you know now what it means when he does this, he isn’t done talking, but he’s searching for what he wants to say, so you wait, keeping your eyes trained on his face. He huffs before turning to face you once more, “I know I’m… intimidatin’. But I,” he stops, biting his bottom lip while he collects himself enough to continue, “I’d never forgive myself if I, if you were ever afraid of me.” You shake your head vehemently, opening your mouth to protest, but one thick index finger comes to rest heavily on your lips before you can say anything and Clyde shakes his head, he’s not finished. You shut your mouth to let him speak, his finger leaving your lips to trace your cheek bone, before it’s joined by the rest of his right hand, which he carefully rests against the side of your face, his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek, “I’ve gotten much better but, I can get startled too, sometimes. And when I do, it’s,” this time when he exhales, his chest hitches, cutting the breath short. His mouth snaps shut, he breathes in through his nose, and this time when his lips part he exhales fully, “it can be frightenin’. I just don’t, I don’t want to frighten ya, that’s all.”

You think you know what he means, what it is he’s talking about, and seeing him make himself so vulnerable to you makes your heart swell for him. You move slowly but with purpose, your hands leaving his ribs, running along his back, pulling yourself in to him, winding your arms tightly around his broad frame, resting your right cheek on his chest, over his heart, until finally you’re embracing him. His left arm curls around your shoulders and his right hand lightly presses your face into his chest. He shudders, his right hand twitching, as if he’s stopping himself from putting further pressure. In response you embrace him more tightly, trying to say with your body what won’t come out of your mouth, _it’s alright, you’re alright, we’ll be alright._ Your head rises with his chest, pressing further into his hand, as he takes a sharp breath, and with a shaky exhale he finally relaxes into your embrace. The shudders wracking his body don’t cease though, so you begin to rub soothing circles into his broad back, hoping they’ll bring him comfort.

You both stay that way for what must be only moments, but for what feels like hours. You don’t dare shift until you feel his breathing finally begin to even out, his fingertips having softly begun tracing the shell of your ear, dipping behind to smooth back errant baby hairs. You pick your head up off of his chest and look up at him, only to find him already staring down at you. His hair is in his face, obscuring his eyes, so you can’t fully make out his expression, but the parts that remain exposed appear calm. You remove one of your hands from his broad back and reach up toward his face, intent on pushing away the curtain of locks, but he catches your wrist before you can make it, laying a kiss to the backs of your fingers as he steps away from you, letting his left arm fall back to his side. He keeps your hand close to his mouth, letting his lips flutter across your fingers as he speaks, his voice rough, “I could really use a cup of yer delicious coffee right about now Sweetness, if it’s no trouble.”

Your stomach somersaults at the sensation of those wonderful lips, making you forget how to breathe. You nod, knowing you need to pull away and walk to the counter, knowing he’s doing his best right now to pull himself back together, to keep some shred of dignity after he all but fell apart in your arms, but all you want to do is tuck back into his embrace, let him know that it’s okay to fall apart, because you’ll put him back together. Not now though, not yet, someday soon, you’ll make him understand, but it’s going to take time, so reluctantly you step away, gently pulling your hands from him, and head for the counter. You take your time preparing something for both of you, knowing he needs a minute. He spends it with his back to you, it’s hard to see what he’s doing because of how broad he is, but as you watch him you realize he’s putting the napkin dispenser you’d dropped back together. After, he makes his way over to his table, tosses something into the trash, runs a hand through his hair to push it back from his eyes, and stands behind the chair you’ve been claiming as of late, his hand gripping the back of it.

You come out from behind the counter with your drinks and meet him at the table, placing the cups down as he pulls your chair out. You thank him as you settle in, glancing up at his face, his expression is tumultuous to say the least. Your heart wrenches, you do your best to think fast, knowing you need to say something, anything to let him know that everything is alright. He sits, eyes trained on his mug, and takes a sip.

You wrap your hands around your glass, looking into your latte, “I’ve been thinking,” you look up into his face only to watch him wince, poor choice of words, you need to speak quickly now, “I’ve been feeding you nothing but pastries for breakfast for the last week and a half. Don’t you want some real food?”

He swallows, face twisted in pain, the words come out quietly, “I understand, I won’t come by anymore.”

You almost knock your latte over as your hands fly out to him, “What?!” you exclaim, one hand curling around his arm, the other clutching your chest, right over your thudding heart. His expression turns startled, then confused, eyes finally meeting yours again.

You lean in toward him, the hand that had been clutching your chest now gesturing frantically, “That’s not what I meant! I meant me! Do you want me to make you food, like real food, instead of pastries! Jesus, Clyde!” you rub your hand down your face when you finish.

Clyde just stares at you, dumbfounded, clearly having misinterpreted your statement. Did he really think you wanted him gone? 

“tell me what it is you like to eat for breakfast, I want to make you something with substance, not just keep filling you up on sugar. That was fine for the first week, but if we’re going to make a habit out of this I’d hate to be the reason you end up gaining ten pounds,” you give him a small smile when you finish, trying your best to show him that everything is okay. He studies your face for a moment more before he finally breathes out his answer, eyebrows knitting with concern, “But I love your pastries.” It comes out like a child begging his mom for one more cookie before dinner, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you, “And you can still have them, but will you please let me feed you properly?”

His eyes go wide for a moment before he nods. You release his arm and give it a pat, satisfied, before returning your hands to their prior place around your glass, “Good, now tell me what you like.”

His eyes drift off while he thinks for a moment, before returning to your gaze, “Do you have eggs?”

You nod, “I do. What do you normally like with your eggs?”

“Bacon,” he responds shyly, “especially when it’s burnt.”

You hum, nodding your understanding, “Eggs and burnt bacon, alright. And how do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled?” he offers, slowly but surely you watch his entire body begin to relax. Good, you think, there we go, just a little more. 

“Scrambled,” you repeat back to him, “Understood. I’m sorry to say I don’t have any bacon on hand at the moment, but I have plenty of eggs, and I have bread, so will scrambled eggs and toast do for now until I pick up some bacon?”

He nods vehemently, “Of course, you don’t have to make me nothin’ special to begin with, Sweetness, please,” but you cut him off with a raised finger, “None of that now, I’m doing this for you because I want to. So relax, and let me make you breakfast, please? For me?” 

He swallows and looks away as he nods, “Of course. I couldn’t say no to you if I tried, Sweetness.”

Your heart flutters, what is it about this man that makes you want to kiss every inch of his face, hug him tight to your chest, you barely know him and yet you can’t help how strongly you feel for him. You get up from the table and come to stand next to where he sits, you take his face in your hands and angle it up so that he’s looking at you. His expression is soft, eyebrows slightly drawn in question of your actions, but not unhappy. You smile down at him, running your thumbs over his cheeks as you speak, “And you won’t ever have to, because I only want what’s best for you. Alright, Erec? Now relax, I won’t be long.”

His eyes go wide at your reference to the Chretien story, a blush crawling up his neck, and just as you’d hoped it’s enough to get him to finally smile. He gives a small nod and, satisfied, you pull away, turning to the kitchen.

Twenty or so minutes later you emerge from the kitchen to find Clyde staring out the window, humming along to… Bob Seger? Your radio had been set to the soft pop station, and you’d never heard them play Seger before. Had he changed the station? Not that you cared if he did, but you made a mental note to leave the radio set to this station. If that’s what your best customer wanted to listen to, you certainly weren’t going to begrudge him. He turns toward you when he hears you, eyes going wide when he catches sight of the overflowing plate you’re holding, “Oh Sweetness…” 

You place the plate down in front of him and plant a hand on his shoulder as you gesture to what’s on the dish, “Scrambled eggs, toast, lightly buttered, and a few peach jelly filled cookies.” When you finish he looks up at you with such reverence it practically knocks the air out of your lungs, “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

You give his shoulder a squeeze, to match the way your heart clenches at the sight of how he’s gazing at you, and smile, “You deserve it just for being you Clyde, that’s all,” it’s so overwhelming, the way you feel receiving that sort of adoring gaze from him, no one has ever looked at you like that before, without even realizing it you bring your hand up from his shoulder to tuck his hair behind his ear, his locks so soft on the backs of your fingers. You let your fingertips graze along the shell of his ear, and you realize you never noticed his ears before, always hidden under his thick ebony mane. They’re a bit large, but they’re adorable. Your gesture widens his grin and the whole image once again makes you think of how endearing and boyish he looks sometimes, beneath this intense façade.

As your fingers finish their journey you step away and return to your seat, giving him space to eat, he must be starving by now. His eyes continue to linger on you though, not quite ready to end the moment it seems. And neither are you, truth be told, so you hold his gaze, absorbing the sight of this man, this handsome, intense, kind, funny, adorable, chivalrous, heroic man, staring at you with utter adoration. Unconsciously you bite your lip, it’s so much to take in, he’s so much to take in, your heart bursts with the enormity of it. If he doesn’t stop staring at you like that right this second, you’re going to lean over this table and kiss him silly. As if he can read your mind, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, seeming to appreciate the way your teeth grip the supple pillow of your bottom lip, and he mimics the action, but then he shakes his head and trains his eyes down on his food. You feel a strange mixture of relief and disappointment that the moment has ended, but decide that it was for the best, jumping across the table to ravage his lips might’ve scared the wits out of him.

He takes a few bites, seemingly quite pleased with your cooking if the little hums and groans coming out of him were any indication. There’s something so primal, so ingrained, about watching someone you care about enjoy a meal that you’ve prepared, and this is no exception. Every delighted hum out of him sends a pleased shiver down your spine, filling your belly with warmth.

“How is it?” you can’t help but ask, even though you know his answer already. You suspect that even if it had been terrible, he’d still praise it. That’s just Clyde.

His mouth is full when he peeks up at you, so at first he can only nod, but once he swallows he smiles, “Delicious darlin’, absolutely delicious.”

You grin wide and give a quick clap, “Excellent, so does this mean you’ll let me feed you real food going forward?”

The smile stays but his eyebrows knit, he gives his head a shake, “You’re spoilin’ me Sweetness, I couldn’t ask that of ya.”

You give him your most dramatic pout and point your finger at him, “You listen here, Clyde Logan. I do as I please. So if I want to spoil you, then I’m going to spoil you. Do you hear me?”

Clyde’s blushing from his shirt collar to his eyeballs, but he smiles and raises his hands in defense, “Yes ma’am.”

You narrow your eyes further and push your finger closer to him, a true caricature of menace, “What did I say about calling me ma’am?”

A chuckle escapes him, but he bites on his lip to stifle it, “Yes, Sweetness.”

You give him one last exaggerated glare before relenting with a smirk, “That’s more like it. Now finish your breakfast, can’t have you leaving for work on an empty stomach.”

He goes even redder, if that’s possible, all the way to the tip of the ear that you brushed his hair behind, and he bites his lip again, eyes returning to his plate, and even though it comes out softly you hear it all the same, “Thank you, Sweetness.”

“You’re welcome, Clyde,” you return just as softly, wrapping your hands around your latte and turning to look out the window, knowing he’ll have to head out soon, but enjoying the time while it lasts.

It doesn’t take long for the plate to be emptied, a satisfied Clyde leaning back in his chair, resting a hand on his stomach, “You sure do know how to make a hell of a breakfast, I haven’t eaten that good in ages.” You giggle at the compliment, and at the sight of how content he looks, face soft and dreamy, completely at ease, “If you think that’s good, just wait until I’m actually prepared.” He laughs in return, “It’s gonna be awfully hard eatin’ my bowl of cereal tomorrow after this, lemme tell ya.”

The image of Clyde, alone in his kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal, rises unbidden to the front of your mind, and it makes your heart ache, “All the more reason to come back on Monday so I can make it up to you.”

That boyish grin of his breaks across his face and it makes your heart ache in a completely different way, “As if I needed convincin’.”

You smile bashfully and nod. You replace the earlier image of him alone eating cereal, with this image right here, of Clyde content, relaxed, a belly full of your cooking, sitting next to you on the bench in the breakfast nook in your kitchen, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you tucked into his side. You lace your fingers with the hand that’s resting on his stomach and he brings them up to his lips, peppering your slim digits with kisses. You tuck the image away for later, knowing your face must be bright red at this point, and rise from your chair, “Come on,” you say with a smile, “Let me pack you some goodies to go, it’s going to be a long weekend before you’ll be back.”

From behind you, you hear him push back in his chair and follow, mumbling under his breath, “Don’t I know it.” 

You slide behind the counter and grab a small paper bag, filling it with cookies, muffins, pastries, until the bag is practically overflowing. When you come back to the register Clyde already has cash in his hand, and as usual way too much of it, so you pull the bag back towards yourself and raise your eyebrows at him accusingly, “For goodness sake Clyde, I don’t do all of this so I can rob you blind, put some of that away!” 

Clyde stares back at you with challenging eyes, sucks in his bottom lip, and puts the money down on the counter, leaving his hand resting on top of it, “You made me breakfast, that’s not on the menu, so I’m giving you what I think is fair compensation.”

“It was just scrambled eggs Clyde, not a New York City brunch!”

Clyde slowly but firmly shakes his head no, and slides the money towards you.

You glare at him and blow out a huff of air, “Fine! But I’m using it on you!” If he’s going to be stubborn you’ll find a way around it. You could use the money on some more breakfast options for him, maybe you can even buy him a book from Taylor’s. The challenge leaves his face and he softens, smiling in victory, removing his large hand from the money. You roll your eyes and slide the bag of goodies towards him, fighting to hide a smile, you conceded but you won’t give him the satisfaction of it!

Clyde takes the bag and tucks it under his arm, “Thank you Sweetness, ya have a good weekend now,” giving a small wave before turning towards the door.

“You too Clyde, See you Monday,” you grumble, but already the fight has left you, replaced instead with the sensation of longing, missing a man you’ve grown entirely too fond of, who has barely just left your line of sight but already feels like he’s been gone a week.

You spend the rest of the day cleaning up, preparing for Monday, and doing your best to ignore the way your heart clenches as your brain replays the feeling of his rough hand on the soft skin of your face as he held you close in his large, strong arms. His long, thick fingers had stroked the shell of your ear so delicately, reverently, touching you as if you were something precious. He smelled like sage and amber, warm and solid, yet soft, you all but sunk into him, which leaves your mind swatting away images of what he must look like under those button downs. He must be an Adonis, pale as marble and spotted with beauty marks, sculpted muscle, you want to trace every inch of him with your fingertips, your lips, your teeth, your tongue. When it’s finally time to close up shop, you all but rush home, eager to remove your uncomfortably wet panties and jump in the shower.

That night, when you open the front door to find Mellie, she greets you with a tight hug which you gladly return. She’s wearing a sleeveless hot pink bodycon dress that hugs her in all the right ways, paired with her white cowboy boots. You’re dressed similarly, except your ensemble is black. She gives you a once over and whistles, “Look at you, girl! It’s like city meets country.” You blush and giggle, “I will admit, I’ve grown quite partial to the boots, they go with everything!” She laughs in response, “That’s it, it’s official, you’re a West Virginian now,” and pats your shoulder. “Come on,” she gestures, heading for your bathroom, “let’s finish gettin’ you ready.”

You take up your usual spots in your bathroom while she begins plugging in hot tools and taking out combs. “How was work this week?” she asks as she puts the hairspray down on the sink counter. You can’t help but think of Clyde, he’s the first thing that comes to mind, and it makes you grin a bit too wide when you respond, even though you try to sound casual, “It was good.”

Mellie doesn’t miss a beat though, appraising your grin and meeting it with a smirk, “Things goin’ well with that handsome fella who’s been comin’ around?”

You giggle like a school girl and nod, “Yeah, you could say that.”

She gives your shoulder a squeeze and a pat, “Good for you girl, I’m happy to hear it. Love must be in the air, remember how I told you my brother was all smiles last weekend? Well he finally admitted why. A nurse at the Veterans Affairs center caught his eye. Lord knows why it was so difficult for him to just say so, but that’s my brother for ya.” She shakes her head in exasperation but she doesn’t lose her smile, it’s obvious Mellie cares about him. 

You shrug, “Maybe he just didn’t want to say anything until he thought there was something worth saying. I know I don’t typically bring up a guy to my friends or family until we’re dating, just to save the headache of explaining why things didn’t work out if they don’t.”

“You might be right. But that’s also just how he is, always so tight-lipped. I wish he’d open up more,” Mellie becomes pensive for a moment, before smirking once more, “Unlike my other brother. He could stand to be a bit more tight-lipped.”

You chuckle in response, “how was he last night?”

“A pain in the ass, as usual,” Mellie rolls her eyes, “He heard me on the phone with you when I walked in, and he harassed me until I gave in and told him about you.”

You laugh, “Uh oh, do I have to be worried now?”

Mellie curls her lip in disgust, “No, I read them both the riot act, I told them they were never gonna meet you and that was that.”

“How did they take that?” you ask with a smirk.

“Oddly well, actually,” Mellie goes thoughtful, eyebrows scrunching together, “My brother put up a bit of a fight at first but, once I told him a little about you, he seemed to give up way quicker ‘an I thought he would. And my other brother didn’t say two words. It was all,” she mulls it over for a moment, “really suspicious, actually. Now that I think about it. That was so unlike them. My one brother especially will take any opportunity to mess with me, so the fact that he dropped it so quickly…” she pauses once more, thoughtful, before shrugging her shoulders, “Maybe he’s intimidated by city girls.”

You give a self-deprecating laugh, “Yeah, that’s me, the big, scary city girl.”

She shakes her head, still obviously in thought over the incident but looking to move the conversation on, “Well whatever the reason, as long as they leave you alone, I’m happy.”

You nod, “And if Mellie’s happy, I’m happy.”

Mellie smiles at you in the mirror, releasing a curl from the curling iron before giving your shoulder a squeeze, “Thanks darlin’, you’re the sweetest.”

So you’ve been told, you think to yourself, honey gold eyes and plush lips breaking into your thoughts.

“Tonight’s gonna be great,” Mellie says, putting the finishing touches on your hair, “We earned some dancing and drinking after working so hard all week.” You nod in ascent, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

The hardest part of your week though, wasn’t running the café. It was stopping yourself from ravaging Clyde Logan’s pink plush lips. But Mellie didn’t need to know that, not yet at least. 

The two of you finish getting ready and head out to Mellie’s car, ready to let loose the pent up emotions you’d been storing ever since Clyde Logan started showing up at Sip of Sunshine to make your heart do funny things.


	8. Two Princes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They said, ‘That Clyde Logan is a big softee, ain’t he?’ and I said, ‘Yep, just a big ol’ teddy bear! It was so sweet of him to go out of his way like that to give me something so lovely’,” you grin, giggling at how red he’s turning. Truth be told, most folks just said something along the lines of, ‘how sweet!’, or, ‘ain’t that nice!’, it was Rosie who’d said what you now repeated to Clyde, one of your friendly regulars, who’s known something’s been up with you for a while now, and looked pleased as punch after hearing who your very pretty bouquet had come from. She had gone on to say that Clyde had been through a lot and could use a girl like you in his life, to which you had smiled and blushed, agreeing that you wouldn’t mind being that girl one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Two Princes" by The Spin Doctors
> 
> I really got carried away, and ended up having to split the chapter in half. I am not yet updating the chapter count if only because I want to see if I can still course correct, but we shall see! Anyway, please enjoy some over-indulgent fluff! As always thank you for all of your comments and kudos, your comments feed my soul <3 Enjoy!

The café is empty when the clock strikes 10:00am on Monday morning, which gives you the perfect opportunity to get to work making breakfast for Clyde. You took your usual trip to the supermarket yesterday on your day off, and filled your cart with everything you thought you might need for the coming week, taking special care to ensure you snagged plenty of goodies for Clyde, most notably a large package of bacon. That night you baked a fresh loaf of bread which was currently being sliced up for toast. You set the bacon in a frying pan, scrambled eggs in a mixing bowl, and even diced up potatoes and onions for home fries. All of it was done with a song in your heart, just the thought of how impressed Clyde would be when he saw what you’d made for him made your toes curl in delight. You couldn’t wait to see the look on his handsome face when you brought all of this out to him. You bit your lip in anticipation of the sounds of pleasure he might make while happily eating it all.

Once more you found yourself going back to that lovely daydream of you and Clyde sitting together at your kitchen table. _Snuggled up against eachother, digesting the meal you just shared, chatting about nothing and everything, his occasional chuckle reverberating through the both of you from where you’re curled up against his side, head on his broad shoulder. You run your fingers delicately over his tummy, happy to have filled it with a meal you made especially for him. His thick fingers are combing through your hair, down your back, soothing strokes, tracing circles around your shoulder blades as he makes his way down to the small of your back before dragging them all the way back up._

When the bell chimed above the door at 10:30 sharp you all but squealed, skittering to the kitchen doorway to make sure your guest was indeed the one you’d been expecting.

Sure enough, there stood Clyde, bashful smile on his plush lips, golden eyes glittering, ebony hair quaffed, dressed in a forest green, short sleeve button down and dark wash jeans. He was a delicious vision, tall and broad and dark, offset by the pale glow of his complexion.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to speak because standing here staring at Clyde just wouldn’t do, not when you had such goodies to give him, “Hey Clyde! I’ll be right out, go make yourself comfortable.”

He nodded, continuing to smile, but otherwise didn’t speak or move, as if waiting for you to resume your business first. It didn’t exactly strike you as odd, Clyde seemed to always give you his full attention until you averted yours from him, and even then he always seemed to be in your thrall, but what did strike you as odd was the fact that he was holding his right hand behind his back. You let it go though, knowing that if you don’t get moving you’ll end up burning the bacon a little too much, and so you turn around and dart back over to the stove, beginning to plate your breakfast bounty.

You emerge with his meal, snagging a mug of coffee for him before turning to face him, only to find that he’s still standing right where you’d left him.

Surprised, you put his plate and mug down on the table and then approach him with your hands on your hips and your eyebrows drawn but wearing a smile, “Why are you still standing here, silly? I told you to make yourself comfortable.”

He bites his lip, as if he’s trying to stop the smile that’s threatening to creep further across his face and takes a deep breath, eyes trained on yours, “I’m sorry Sweetness, but there was something I had to do first.” And with that Clyde brings his hand out from behind his back to reveal a beautiful bouquet of flowers. You gasp, eyes darting between the bouquet being thrust out to you, and the glittering golden orbs that are waiting for your reaction.

“These are for me?” you manage to squeak out, barely able to speak.

Clyde gives one sharp nod, lips firmly pressed together, eyes wide.

“Oh Clyde,” you breathe, reaching out slowly and tenderly taking the bouquet from him, bringing it up to your nose to give the gorgeous blooms a whiff, “I don’t know what I did to deserve these, but thank you, they’re absolutely beautiful.” 

Clyde lets out a breath and finally unleashes a true grin, “I wanted to thank you, for breakfast and everythin’, an’ I thought you might like these.”

“I love them Clyde,” you close your eyes and inhale, savoring the delicate perfumed scent. When you reopen them and gaze up at Clyde he is the most pleased you’ve ever seen him, it makes your heart skip a beat and warmth pool in your belly. Before you can convince yourself not to, you step in close to him and wrap your arms around his midsection, pulling him into a hug, careful not to squash your beautiful gift. You feel Clyde’s entire body tense up, and for a moment you worry you may have startled him or made him uncomfortable, but those thoughts fly out of your head even faster than they arrived once you feel his strong arms envelop your shoulders, his entire body curling in to wrap around you, his arms so long that his right hand is gripping your right bicep, his cheek coming to rest on top of your head. You feel his entire body rattle as he pulls in a shaky breath, letting it go slowly as his thumb begins to swipe along your bicep. You give him a little squeeze in what you hope is an act of encouragement. He pulls in another shaky breath and speaks just above a whisper, his voice husky and deep, “I meant what I said, on Friday. You’re special. This was the least I could do after all of the kindness you’ve shown me.”

You dig your fingers into his sides, gripping him tight as your breath hitches. Your mind reels with things to say while simultaneously going completely blank. Being different you knew how to deal with, you knew what it meant to be different, but special? How many people had ever called you special, and said it the way he said it right now, with such open, heart-felt sincerity? If anyone deserved to be called special, it was him. Big, soft, kind Clyde, whose face could say everything and nothing, whose eyes spoke more than his plush lips ever could. Who came in to see you every day looking like it was the highlight of his life. Who made you feel seen and important, who understood what it meant to feel different, who told you you weren’t alone, and you believed him. 

“Thank you,” was all you could manage to say without emotion betraying you. You felt his arms tighten a fraction, but otherwise he said nothing and made no move to extricate himself from your grasp, so you stood there in eachother’s arms while you tried to get your breathing under control, trying to pull back in the tears that threatened to spill. You luxuriated in the feel of his body wrapped around yours, firm with toned muscle yet soft, soft enough to let you sink in to him a little, and as warm as a furnace. You take a deep breath in through your nose, amber and sage and that manly musk that all men have, the kind that makes you go a little lightheaded with carnal thoughts. When you finally feel composed enough to speak, you leaned back in his arms and looked up at him, taking in the glittering gold of his eyes, the soft happiness on his face, and matching it with your own, “You’re a good man, Clyde. Now please eat my display of appreciation before it turns ice cold,” you finish with a jerk of your head towards the table where his breakfast sat forgotten. 

A soft chuckle escapes him and he takes a reluctant step back, slowly releasing his grip on you, but before he pulls away completely he lets his hands linger on your biceps, looking toward the plate before meeting your eyes once more, “Hot or cold, I’d eat it all the same. Anythin’ you make for me is a gift, and I’m not one to waste gifts.” 

You giggle in return before pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, burning up at the combined sensation of him holding you so close still, how large the hand is that wrapped around your bicep, dwarfing it, the heat coming off of him, the warmth pooling in your belly, and of the flirty things he’s saying. You’re itching to lean up on your tip toes and kiss him, it would be so easy, it would be so lovely, so perfect, but your nerves leave you paralyzed once more, and so you get yourself under control and answer, “Understood, but I’d much rather you enjoyed my gifts while they’re warm.”

Clyde’s eyes go wide, eyebrows raised, he presses his lips together and swallows as he drops his hands and takes a step back, expressing morphing into a bashful smile and a creeping blush, although why your statement would elicit such a response from him eludes you, but not wanting to embarrass him you ignore it. He steps around you to pull out your chair and graciously you take it, watching him re-schooling his features as he slides you in and moves to take his own seat. His eyes devour the plate of food before he has even touched his fork, which pleases you. It pleases you even more when he begins to eat and the little noises you’d been hoping to hear start to escape from him. You watch his face as he hums and groans in delight, filing away the memory for later, knowing you’ll be replaying this event when you touch yourself tonight as you know you inevitably will. Barely a night has gone by where you haven’t, ever since Clyde started coming around. Remotely you wonder if he’d make these same sounds if you took his cock in your mouth, which only leads you to wonder what a man as large as he is must be equipped with. If his hands and feet are any indication, you think you already know.

But just as quickly as you thought it you push it back down, already feeling the tell-tale wetness between your thighs and knowing now is not the time. You gently lay the bouquet down on the table, they’ll be alright without water for a little longer, at least until Clyde is finished eating breakfast.

Clyde hums, swallows a mouth full of scrambled egg, and smiles up at you, “I’d tell ya that you should consider addin’ breakfast to the menu, but if I’m bein’ honest, I don’ really want’a share. Is that wrong?”

You giggle as a blush spreads across your cheeks, subconsciously rubbing your thighs together under the table, preening under Clyde’s flirty compliments, “That’s very cheeky of you, Clyde Logan. But if we’re both being honest, you’re the only person I’m willing to cook breakfast for, so no need to worry.”

Clyde couldn’t possibly smile any wider than he was in that moment. Crooked teeth on full display, cheeks rosy with the kiss of a blush, grinning like you’d just told him he’d won the lottery. You can’t help but laugh at how pleased he looks, “Clyde Logan!” You mockingly scold, “Where is all of this cheek coming from today? You look entirely too pleased to hear that you have exclusive rights to my home cooked breakfast!”

He laughs then, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to try and stifle it, and shakes his head, “I swear I’m not tryin’ ta’ be cheeky.”

You point your finger at him in a mockery of a scolding, “Don’t you lie to me Clyde Logan! Now finish your breakfast, you’re going to be late for work!”

“Alright, Sweetness,” Clyde sighs, picking up another forkful of egg, trying to school his grin back before taking the bite.

You huff dramatically and roll your eyes, which only serves to quirk his grin up once again, as he tries to chew and swallow.

Your gaze drifts to the bouquet resting in front of you, and you decide to give it a look while Clyde continues to devour his plate. A long stem red rose, a few pink and white peonies, red and white lilies, red, white and pink carnations, baby’s breath, it was a truly striking arrangement, it couldn’t have been cheap either. You were no flower expert, but this looked to be the kind of bouquet you present to a significant other, if the rose alone was any indication. You reach out and delicately run your fingertip along the edge of the rose’s petals, appreciating its softness, not so dissimilar to the feel of Clyde’s lips. The thought flits across your mind and you cross your legs, hazarding a glance at the lips in question, finding them chewing slowly, noticing that the face which houses them is watching you with rapture. He returns his gaze to his plate as he lifts another forkful, but the smile is back and evident, even though he is clearly trying to hide it from you, “Do you really like them?” he asks quietly, keeping his eyes trained on his plate.

“Yes,” you breathe out barely above a whisper yourself, suddenly finding that the air seems to have left your lungs, taking a moment to finish tracing the rose’s petals before you continue, “I love them.”

He nods, still not looking up at you, bringing the fork to his mouth, chewing and swallowing before finally responding, “You deserve it.” His voice is resolute, but kind. He peeks at you through his lashes to see your reaction.

You smile, but it’s watery, if he keeps talking like this he’s going to make you cry. What did you do to deserve this sweet man’s kindness? He acts as if you’ve given him the world, when all you’ve done is fed him. You swallow, trying to push down the tears once more, and meet his honey gaze, “So do you.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before letting it fall back to his plate, pressing his lips together as he fills up his fork, catching the way the corner quirks up in a small smile just before he takes a bite.

You sit in loaded yet comfortable silence while he finishes, the air between you heavy with the perfume of the flowers and the weight of words unsaid. 

When his plate is finally empty you rise, taking the dish and your bouquet with you behind the counter. He follows, looming behind you, coming to meet you on the other side of the countertop. You place the bouquet beside you and grab a small white bag, quickly tossing in a few cookies while Clyde pulls out his wallet and rustles up a few bills.

“Good luck at work today,” you say with a warm smile as he puts the bills down and returns his wallet to his pocket.

“Thank ya, Sweetness. I’d say I’ll tell ya all about it tomorrow, but truth be told, ain’t normally much ta tell,” Clyde finishes with a self-deprecating smirk and a shrug.

“I’m holding you to that, Clyde. Tomorrow I want to hear all about how your night went,” you point in mock command, to which he softly chuckles and concedes, “Alright sweetness, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he takes a step back from the counter, giving you a nod, “Have a good day, Sweetness,” before turning to leave.

“See you tomorrow, Clyde,” you reply softly, letting your fingers delicately pet the petals of your bouquet as you watch him go.

~.~.~.~.~.~

On Tuesday, Clyde comes in to find the bouquet he had gifted you sitting proudly on the counter, arranged in a large milk glass pitcher.

You’re standing there beside it, beaming as brightly as the lilies, arms crossed and leaning on the counter, “Good Morning, Clyde!”

“Good Mornin’, Sweetness,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are darting between you and the bouquet, “You didn’t want’ta take these home wi’cha?”

You shake your head and smirk, “Why would I do that when instead I could put them right here and tell everyone who comes in who gave them to me when they inevitably ask about them?”

Clyde’s jaw drops before he shuts it tight, pressing his lips together in a firm line, swallowing hard, “You told people I got em’ for ya?” he all but squeaks out, the blush already creeping up his neck.

You nod proudly, smirk bursting into a grin, “Every. Single. Customer.”

Clyde swallows again, the blush has reached the tips of his ears, “Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you shrug, pushing yourself up off of the counter and turning to the kitchen, but not before calling over your shoulder, “Go make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back, then I want to hear about your night!”

You grab the plate of biscuits and gravy before making your way back out, trying to school back your grin. It was true, many of your customers had inquired about the flowers, and you really had told them all that Clyde had been the one to give them to you. Every time you did you were met with surprise, a question or two, a knowing look, a curious eyebrow, and every time you beamed a little brighter. It might’ve been silly of you to make such a big deal over a bouquet that had been given simply as a thank you for breakfast, but you couldn’t help yourself, the entire gesture had really touched you, and maybe you wanted to think it had meant a little more than just that, even if Clyde was too shy to say it. There was no denying the way he looked at you sometimes, it couldn’t only be in your head.

When you come back out into the café, Clyde is standing behind your chair, waiting for you dutifully. The blush isn’t as red, but it isn’t gone either, and he only locks eyes with you briefly before darting his gaze away, but you know what it means when he presses his lips together like that, and it only makes you lose control over the grin you’d been trying to keep at bay.

You put down his plate and his coffee, and let him push you in, thanking him as he does it. He takes his place across from you and as you’ve come to anticipate, you watch gleefully as he admires your breakfast bounty. His whole body seems to relax as he takes a sniff, humming to himself in his approving little way, before lifting his fork. 

He hesitates though, looking back up at you instead of digging in, searching your eyes, “When folks asked, and you told ‘em, what’id they say?”

“They said, ‘That Clyde Logan is a big softee, ain’t he?’ and I said, ‘Yep, just a big ol’ teddy bear! It was so sweet of him to go out of his way like that to give me something so lovely’,” you grin, giggling at how red he’s turning. Truth be told, most folks just said something along the lines of, ‘how sweet!’, or, ‘ain’t that nice!’, it was Rosie who’d said what you now repeated to Clyde, one of your friendly regulars, who’s known something’s been up with you for a while now, and looked pleased as punch after hearing who your very pretty bouquet had come from. She had gone on to say that Clyde had been through a lot and could use a girl like you in his life, to which you had smiled and blushed, agreeing that you wouldn’t mind being that girl one bit.

“Shoot, Sweetness,” Clyde mumbles, quickly looking back down at his plate in an effort to hide his blush, and shrugs, “wasn’t any trouble.”

You grin even wider but decide to leave it at that, let him get a few bites in on his breakfast. You want to pester him about work next, genuinely curious as to what he does, considering he’s not yet made any mention of it, but you know he needs a minute after how flustered you’ve just made him.

Finally after a few moments you decide to pipe up, “So how was your night?”

Clyde groans around a mouthful of biscuit and gravy, sending a thrill up your spine, before meeting your eyes, “I was hopin’ you’d forgotten ‘bout that,” he remarks dryly. 

You grin and shake your head teasingly, “I don’t forget anything when it comes to you, sweetheart.”

He sighs, nodding almost in defeat, “It was good,” is all he says before filling his mouth with another forkful, groaning happily once more as he chews.

You won’t let his seductive sounds of pleasure distract you though, pressing him for more, “I’ve never asked you what it is you do. You keep strange hours.”

He begins to chew more slowly, keeping his eyes on his plate until he swallows, “I’m a bartender,” he responds, lifting his eyes to yours, studying your reaction.

Does he think you won’t respect that or something? Why does he look so concerned? “That’s awesome,” you smile, trying to reassure him even though you aren’t sure what it is about that that requires reassurance, “I bet you have a million crazy stories.”

“Not really,” he’s still watching you closely, monitoring you, still filling his fork but more-so just going through the motions. It leaves you perplexed, what is it he thinks you’re going to say?

“I’ve always enjoyed watching bartenders work, it’s an art form in itself, to mix such delicious drinks, and to do it so quickly and under such intense conditions. At least in New York it’s like that, although I imagine even here it can get pretty intense,” you’re starting to babble, you can feel it, but you can’t shake how his scrutinizing stare is bothering you, why is he so reluctant to talk about his job?

“Sometimes,” he remarks, taking another bite without looking at the fork, not leaving your gaze.

“If I hadn’t gone into the café business, I would have liked to give bartending a try. I’d say they’re a little bit similar, no? At least the conditions can be occasionally, folks can get pretty rowdy when they haven’t had their morning cup o’ joe,” you grin, hoping to rouse a laugh out of him. His lips quirk up at the corner, but he otherwise remains impassive, much to your chagrin and confusion. 

“I suppose they are,” he says simply, letting the quirk fall back into place.

“I’d still love to learn. Maybe one of these days you could give me a lesson? I bet you’re a fantastic teacher, you’re certainly patient enough,” you entreat. 

He nods, keeping his jaw tight, swallows, “If ya wanted.”

“I’d like that,” you smile broadly, it feels like you’re trying to coax a skittish dog out of a corner, but you’re still not entirely sure why, “My friend and I usually go out on the weekends, but it would save us a couple of bucks if I could whip us up some drinks at home once in a while. Going out is fun but it can get expensive, you know?”

His jaw shuts tight again, you watch it as it works, watch him as he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, before he nods, “You go out a lot? You an’ your friend?”

His reaction piques your interest, is he fishing for information? Why does he still look so tense though? You clear your throat and give a dismissive wave, “Once a week or so, nothing crazy. Just to go dance, let off a little steam. She’s a lot of fun, I let her pick the places, since she knows the area better than I do.”

He nods once, seemingly satisfied with your answer, before following up, “What do ya like’ta dance to?”

You laugh to yourself, knowing that where Mellie takes you to dance isn’t necessarily where you’d choose to dance, although you can’t say you haven’t grown to enjoy it, “I’ll dance to anything, really. Although my friend prefers country, so those are the kinds of places we tend to go to.”

His stare is intense, eyes watching for your every reaction when he asks, “Do ya’ like it now too?” 

You cock your head at his question, unsure of what he’s referring to. 

He sees your confusion and quickly tries to clarify, “Country, I mean. Do ya, are ya enjoyin’ it?”

“Oh!” you exclaim in understanding, “I mean, yeah, I suppose. It’s fun. The places she takes me are fun too, like I said I’ll use any excuse to dance,” you wave off dismissively, trying to smile at him even though he’s still staring you down with that intense face.

“Do ya miss New York?” his question causes you to balk, do you? You did, for different reasons. You still do, there are some things you miss, family, friends, places you liked to go, things you liked to do. But… Clyde’s honey eyes are glowing like embers, waiting for your response. 

“Sometimes I do. I miss some of the people that are there, and I miss some of the places,” you watch Clyde’s jaw tighten, pressing his lips together into an impossibly firm line, as if bracing for something. “But,” you continue, thinking about the man sitting across from you, how happy you’ve been since meeting him, how exciting he’s made things since he started coming around, “I’m happy here. I’ll always miss where I’m from, but this is home now.”

He takes a moment to absorb what you’ve said, before finally letting a smile curl his lips once more. He nods once before letting his gaze drift back down to his meal.

You eye him carefully, still not entirely sure what just transpired, but willing to let it go for the time being.

His shoulders finally drop as he finishes his meal, seemingly satisfied with whatever had just transpired, even though you’ve been left with more questions than answers. This Clyde Logan fella certainly was mysterious. When he’s cleared his plate he gives you his famous tight-lipped smile, “Thank you Sweetness, that was delicious.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you smile as you move to clear the table, “I have something special planned for tomorrow, so bring your appetite,” you finish with a wink.

He moves to meet you at the counter, pulling out his wallet, shaking his head as he fights a grin, “Sweetness, all of it’s already special, how many times do I gotta tell ya?”

“get used to it,” you stick out your tongue at him as you put his offered cash into the register, pulling one last chuckle out of him before he bids you goodbye and heads out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you understand why Clyde was so skittish when it came to talking about what he does for a living? I wonder how long it'll be before reader puts the pieces together...


	9. Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as the door shuts you run into the kitchen, gulping in a breath, an errant tear slipping down your cheek. You have to get yourself straightened out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Misunderstanding" by Genesis
> 
> Misunderstandings, revelations, schemes, things are about to start moving very quickly, I hope you're ready for the ride!  
> As a side note, if you aren't following it already I have a Tumblr (Contesa-lui-Alucard) where I post updates (in case you aren't getting AO3's emails), as well as thoughts and whatnot on Sip of Sunshine as it's being written.  
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

You are beginning to realize that you could quite possibly set your watch by Clyde Logan. At 10:30am sharp on Wednesday morning the bell above the door jingles, as it has done almost every day for the last three weeks, and just as you’ve come to expect, there stands the man of the hour. Today he’s wearing a button down in shades of yellow and tan, tucked into coffee colored jeans. The cheery tones of his outfit match his honey eyes and make his dark hair stand out even more starkly. He smiles his endearing little tight-lipped smile at you and greets you as he always does in that soothing baritone you’ve begun to hear in your dreams, “Good Mornin’, Sweetness.”

“Good Morning, Clyde!” you beam, because you can’t help but beam, afterall your daily dose of warmth has arrived, “You’re just in time, have a seat, I’ll be right out!” you call before turning to scurry into the kitchen. You gather the plate you fixed for him, today it’s chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, a mug of coffee and an iced latte, and make your way out to him. As has become tradition Clyde stands behind your chair, still smiling, eyes glittering, waiting patiently for you to arrange the dishware before taking your seat.

“Thank you, Clyde,” you look up at him and nod as he slides you in, to which he nods in return, “It’s my pleasure, Sweetness,” before taking his seat across from you.

He takes in the sight of the bounty you’ve prepared for him with wide eyes. “I hope you like chocolate chip,” you gesture to the pancakes before wrapping your hands around your latte.

“I like everythin’, Sweetness,” he presses his lips together impossibly tighter but smiles, glancing up at you through his lashes, “thank you.”

You knew he wouldn’t say otherwise even if he hated chocolate chips, that was just Clyde for you, but still, “You’re welcome sweetheart, enjoy.”

He gives you one slow nod before returning his attention to his plate, cutting in to a fluffy cake. It oozed with syrup and melted chocolate, a little of which stuck to his moustache and lips as he brought it to his mouth. What you wouldn’t give to lean over and lick the sweet substances off of those pillow soft lips. Would he moan deep in his throat the same way he’s doing now as he chews the bite of pancake? As if reading your mind, Clyde’s eyes find yours and he licks his lips, jarring you from the daydream you were about to slip into, blushing at the fact that you were most likely staring with lidded eyes at his mouth as the poor man tried to eat. You clear your throat and take a sip of your latte, averting your gaze to the window. It was criminal how badly you wanted to kiss him. You’d been unable to forget how his lips had felt on your knuckles the other day, when he kissed them and spoke into them with utter reverence. The touch had been so soft, so light, but it had felt restrained, the way he had lingered had made you lightheaded, it was fortuitous that you’d still had a grip on him or else you surely would’ve given away how much of an effect it had had on you, considering how weak your knees had gone. 

You’re brought back to the moment when his soft baritone breaks the silence, “Do ya have any plans tonight?”

You shake your head before turning to look at him again, finding him peeking up at you through his lashes, putting another forkful of pancake into his mouth. “No,” you respond casually, or at least attempting to sound casual, “I don’t have any plans. How about you?” Was this it? Was he going to ask you out? your stomach fluttered with hope. 

He shook his head, swallowing before answering, “No, I got work.”

“Oh,” you breathed, trying to hide your disappointment, “Yeah, duh, I knew that, silly me.” He gives you a sort of funny look which you quickly try to dissuade with a clearing of your throat and a change of subject, “What days do you work?”

He doesn’t let up at first, letting his look linger another moment before averting his gaze back to his plate and answering, “Every day ‘cept Sunday.”

“Oh, same as me,” you reply with a little giggle, hoping to maybe plant a subtle suggestion in his mind. 

But if Clyde got the suggestion, he didn’t seem to want to act on it, simply humming and nodding in acknowledgment as he chewed his mouthful of fluffy chocolately cake.

Maybe you have been reading this completely wrong all along, the thought cuts you to the bone. Suddenly embarrassed you begin to babble, needing to fill the perceived awkward silence, “Yeah I don’t typically do much during the week since I have to be up so early. I’ll probably just head home, make dinner and watch a movie tonight, not sure what I’m in the mood to watch though. I feel like sometimes I take just as long scrolling through Netflix and Amazon Prime and whatever else trying to find a movie to watch, than I would’ve taken just watching a movie,” you finish with a giggle, but even to you the giggle doesn’t come out sounding very genuine. Clyde watches you with an inscrutable gaze, swallowing, eyes roving your face before speaking, “Can I suggest one?”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, how unlike him to volunteer something like that, your curiosity is undoubtedly piqued when you answer, “I’d love a suggestion from you, please, shoot.”

He takes his last bite of pancake, chewing slowly, putting down his fork and placing his hands under the table, not looking up at you until after he’s swallowed, and that’s when you notice the blush beginning to peek out from his shirt collar, “It’s an older movie, it’s kinda, I dunno, it’s a bit schmaltzy, but it’s one’a my favorites, an’ I think you’ll like it.”

You nod, eyebrows still raised, encouraging him to continue.

He swallows, the blush spreading higher, “It’s called White Christmas. It’s starring Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney and Vera Ellen.” Your mouth drops open ever so slightly, so surprised to hear this big, intimidating, mountain man sitting here recommending a 50’s Christmas musical to you. He must mistake your surprise for apprehension, and once again very much unlike Clyde, he starts trying to explain himself in a rush of words, looking away from you and shaking his head, “It’s a Christmas movie, I know, but what’s that thing they do, Christmas in July? It’s August so we’re a little off but same idea. It’s just a nice movie, an’ I think you’ll enjoy it is all. But ya don’t have’ta take my suggestion.”

You reach out to stop him, reach out and wrap your hand around his arm, smiling warmly up at him, “I’ll watch it.” He freezes, eyes locking with yours, before nodding slowly. You let go of his arm, remembering his earlier avoidance, not wanting to make yourself look any more foolish, and sit back in your seat, “We can talk about it tomorrow, if you come by.” If it comes out with any kind of bitterness, you didn’t mean for it to. If Clyde isn’t interested in you that’s not something you should take out on him. Clyde’s eyebrows raise, eyes darting around your face, he swallows thickly, he seems to look at you almost placatingly, “I’ll watch it tonight too, after work, so it’ll be fresh in ma’ mind for tomorrow.”

You nod a little too enthusiastically, overcompensating a little too much for your passive aggressive comment, mentally scolding yourself for getting even slightly upset with this big cuddly bear, “Sounds good! I’m looking forward to seeing a Clyde Logan favorite,” you finish with a wink.

Clyde nods too, the corner of his mouth cracking into a small smile, “I hope ya like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” you smile back at him before collecting his plate and moving to stand, “Now let’s get you ready for work, can’t have you showing up late.” You can’t help the guilt you feel at being upset. If Clyde isn’t interested in you that’s nothing to be mad at him for. But it’s there, a small pain in your chest, small but sharp, and while you cherish your time with Clyde you need some space from him at this moment, before you say or do anything else unwarranted. You don’t turn back to look at Clyde as you clean off the table, afraid of what you might see.

You dart around behind the counter, dropping dirty dishware and wiping off your hands, turning to face the register. Clyde has made his way over as well, and you look up to meet his eyes, coming face to face with his stricken expression. He looks like he wants to say something, but he only presses his lips together, taking out his wallet with a sigh and laying cash down on the counter. 

It’s obvious that Clyde is confused at your sudden outburst, and you further berate yourself for having acted the way you did. But the damage is done, and Clyde needs to leave so you can calm yourself down before you say or do anything else to hurt him. You give him your best, brightest smile as you put his cash into the register, “Good luck at work tonight!”

He’s slow to react, reluctant to conclude his search of your face, but eventually he nods defeatedly, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbles, before turning to leave.

As soon as the door shuts you run into the kitchen, gulping in a breath, an errant tear slipping down your cheek. You have to get yourself straightened out. Clyde is such a kind and gentle soul, he clearly sensed your unhappiness, and obviously knew he was the cause, but there’s no way he knew why. And honestly, the “why” was absolutely foolish. If Clyde wasn’t interested in you like that, there’s no reason to take it out on him. You’re an adult, you can handle a little rejection. You resolve yourself to do better, be better, tomorrow has to be different, Clyde can’t be going around thinking he somehow slighted you when all he’s ever done is been sweet to you. You take a deep breath, trying to get yourself under control, wipe away the wetness on your cheeks, and set about cleaning up the kitchen.

~.~.~.~.~

A little after 9:30am on Thursday the bell above the door jingles, announcing the arrival of the Logan brothers.

“Good morning, boys!” you call to them from behind the counter as they approach, noticing immediately that Clyde isn’t looking at you, in fact his entire head is bent towards the floor. Jimmy, on the other hand, looks like the cat who killed the canary, beaming at you and giving a wave, “Mornin’ (Y/N), how goes it?” It isn’t until Jimmy and Clyde reach the counter that Clyde finally peeks up at you, mumbling out a, “Good Mornin’ (Y/N),” before averting his eyes again.

Your gaze darts between the two of them, and you do your best to appear unphased by Clyde’s behavior, although the stab of guilt cuts all the same, “It’s going well, thanks. What brings you in this morning, Jimmy?”

Jimmy props an arm up on the counter, getting comfortable, “The toilet at our sister’s job broke, so we’re headin’ over to take a look at it.”

They have a sister? You do your best to quickly scroll through your memory bank, trying to recall if Clyde ever mentioned having a sister. You remember him speaking about Jimmy, but talk of a sister escapes you. You try not to look too surprised at the revelation as you respond, “A broken toilet? Now that’s a dirty job. Came in to fill up on caffeine first? Sounds like you’re going to need it.”

Jimmy smirks, “Yeah, you could say that. I know my brother can barely go a day without seein’ ya, so—“ but before Jimmy could finish, Clyde’s hand shoots out to grab Jimmy’s arm harshly, turning to face him with the most menacing look you’ve ever seen on his face, “Shut up!” he bellows.

Jimmy is completely unruffled by Clyde’s intimidation though, eyes never leaving yours and smirk still firmly planted on his face. 

Trying to think quickly as to how you can diffuse the situation, you plant your hands on the counter and lean forward towards Clyde, “I’m really glad you came in, Clyde,” Clyde is still glaring at Jimmy, but you see his body begin to lose some of it’s tension, so you continue, “I wanted to talk to you about that movie we were both going to watch last night. But if you’re busy, I underst—“ 

“No!” Clyde exclaims, snapping his head to look at you. Softening his voice when he speaks again, “No, it’s alright, we got time.” 

“Are you sure?” you furrow your brows, “You have to fix your sister’s toilet.”

“It’ll be fine, the salon’s close by,” Clyde seems to wince, expression worried, which confuses you but before you can dwell on it he resumes, “I really want to know what you thought of White Christmas.”

What Clyde said registers in your brain, and his concerned reaction to saying it registers in your brain, and all of it raises a red flag in your brain, but you can’t yet put together why all of it has you feeling odd. These two brothers, one of which is a bartender, have a sister who works in a salon. Why does that sound so familiar? There’s no time to dwell on it now though, with Clyde looking at you so expectantly, waiting for your response. 

“I loved it!” you smile at him, “It had all of the charms of those old movies,” you fold your arms down on the counter and lean over them, “the singing and dancing was great, everyone is so talented,” Clyde begins to lean towards you as well, releasing Jimmy’s arm and planting his hands on the counter. “It had such heart too, my heart broke for their General,” you continue, watching a smile slowly spread across Clyde’s face as he leans in further as well, listening to you raptly.

“What was your favorite song?” he asks, all of his attention focused directly on you.

You hum thoughtfully, but you don’t look away from him while you think, even though those whiskey eyes make is difficult to form sentences, “I guess it’s White Christmas. Is that cliché? I liked all of the songs though.”

He shakes his head, “It’s not cliché, it’s a good song.”

“What’s yours?” you ask. He replies with raised eyebrows, “what’s my favorite?”

“Yeah, silly. I told you mine, what’s yours?” you watch as he seems to remember for a moment that Jimmy is there, giving him a glance, but Jimmy doesn’t react, he simply observes.

Clyde clears his throat, “I uh, I guess my favorite is, uh, The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing. I like that one.”

Of course he does, you think, such a romantic. He begins to blush, quickly following up with, “But they’re all great.”

“Agreed,” you nod, deciding to let him off the hook for that one, only because Jimmy is here, “I especially loved the girls’ costumes, they were all so elegant and beautiful. And the men were very dapper, of course. It’s funny to think that people used to dress like that all the time.”

Clyde nods, “I like it, how people dressed back then, they took pride in their clothes. I think it says a lot about a person when they present themselves a certain way.”

You can’t help but smile, how like Clyde to think that, Clyde who always comes in wearing a pressed button down tucked into his jeans, “I understand, just look at you for example, you’re always dressed very nicely, it says a lot about you.”

Clyde blushes a furious shade of red, eyebrows shooting straight up, “I, I just,” he swallows, trying to regain his composure, “I just like to be presentable, is all. Military habit.”

Jimmy snickers, undoubtedly at his brother’s discomfort at receiving your compliment.

Clyde shoots him a dirty look before turning back to you, “You do too,” he responds, too cryptically he must realize, so he quickly continues, “Ya always look nice. Yer dress looks like somethin’ right outa the movie.”

You giggle and blush, although you can’t help but wonder if he thinks this is how you dress all the time. He does realize this is a uniform, right? “Why thank you Clyde, although I’d like to hear you say that when you see me on a Sunday afternoon in leggings and an oversized t-shirt.”

Clyde’s honey eyes bore straight into yours, as if daring you to disagree with him, “You’re just as pretty then, too.”

“Awwww,” Jimmy coos. Clyde holds your gaze a beat longer before turning to glare at him.

Your face is absolutely burning red at the unabashed compliment Clyde just delivered, you bite your bottom lip and rub your thighs together. Stop that, you think to yourself, stop saying things like that, you’re too kind for your own good, Clyde. It’s not his fault though, it’s your fault for letting yourself get so taken in by his compliments. When his eyes return to yours you give him a bashful smile, “Thank you Clyde, you’re such a gentleman.”

“isn’t he? Our momma done raised us right,” Jimmy chimes in, grinning from ear to ear, “Not to mention the fact that you’re so beautiful, it’s impossible not to compliment ya. Ain’t that right, Clyde?”

But instead of answering, Clyde has returned to glaring at Jimmy, the skin under his left eye twitching in a way you’d never seen it do before.

Trying to get their attention off of eachother, you offer your best attempt at a distraction, “Would you boys like some lunch to go? I can make you sandwiches, it sounds like you’re going to need the energy.”

Both brothers turn to look at you with blank faces, eyebrows raised, “Really?” they ask simultaneously. Success! Perhaps blood will not yet be spilled in the middle of Sip of Sunshine. 

Clyde clears his throat and softens his expression, “You don’t gotta trouble yerself, Sweetness.”

“It’s no trouble,” you dismiss with a wave, “wait here a moment, I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

You disappear into the kitchen, taking a couple of slices of the bread you’d baked for Clyde Sunday night, and you begin to fix some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Your mind floats back to that odd sense of déjà vu you’d gotten before when Clyde mentioned his sister’s place of work, you do happen to know someone who works at a salon that isn’t far from here, who also happens to have two older brothers, one of which is a bartender. What could the chances be that Clyde’s sister was Mellie? It’s a small world, and this is a small town, but surely a coincidence like that was impossible, wasn’t it? You finish wrapping up the sandwiches and tuck your thoughts away for later, maybe you’ll ask Mellie about it tomorrow, but your gut is reluctant, Mellie had also been adamant that she didn’t want you to have anything to do with her brothers, so if your feeling is correct… 

You emerge from the kitchen with the wrapped sandwiches, finding Clyde and Jimmy staring eachother down and speaking in hushed tones. Clyde notices you first, quickly darting his attention from Jimmy to you, his lips are pressed tightly together and he watches you with wide eyes.

“All set!” you call cheerfully while waving the sandwiches, the tension in the air between the two brothers so thick you could cut it with a knife, “Let me just put these in a bag for you.” The brothers watch silently as you do just that, dropping the sandwiches into a white paper bag, then proceeding to dump in some cookies and other pastries along with them, “This all should do, there’s enough sugar in here to make an elephant hyper.”

At your corny joke Jimmy laughs and Clyde cracks a tight lipped grin, both brothers seeming to let go of whatever is going on between them for the time being.

Jimmy smiles, “Thank you (Y/N), ya didn’t have’ta do that, but we appreciate it. You’re a real good girl, takin’ care of us Logan boys the way ya do.”

Clyde side eyes Jimmy, his grin faltering, but he says nothing.

“It’s my pleasure, I have no problem returning the favor considering how good the Logan boys are to me. Good luck today,” you smile warmly, first at Jimmy and then pointedly at Clyde, who has stopped glaring at Jimmy and instead slides his gaze to you. His face softens once more, offering a sincere albeit small curl up at the corner of his mouth, “Thank you, Sweetness. See you tomorrow.”

You all exchange goodbyes and the boys head off on their way. The rest of your afternoon is spent wondering if and when you should ask Mellie what her big brother’s names are, and what the answer will mean.

~.~.~.~.~

“I know what’s going on,” Jimmy states evenly, not looking at Clyde, who attempts to stop himself from openly gawking back at Jimmy.

Clyde shuts his jaw tight and swallows, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

Jimmy pulls open the driver’s side door to his truck and levels Clyde with an even glare, “You and I both know there ain’t no Enide at the VA. But there _is_ (Y/N) at Sip o’ Sunshine, the same (Y/N) who happens to be good friends with our sister, who made us swear to stay far away from her. Now tell me what you’re plannin’ to do ‘bout this.”

Clyde’s mind goes reeling, he knew Jimmy knew, he did, it was all so obvious, too obvious, damn him and his weakness for that beautiful girl. Clyde opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say, what is there to say? He’s… he has feelings for a girl that his sister made him swear he’d stay away from, “Nothing,” Clyde croaks out, “I can’t do anythin’ ‘bout it, on account’a Mellie’s wishes.”

They settle into the truck and Jimmy begins to pull out of the parking spot, eyes focused on the road as he speaks, “What if Mellie was alright with it?”

Clyde’s head snaps in Jimmy’s direction, his pulse is racing now, “You were there that night, she was clear with us, it don’t matter.”

“Mellie’s more reasonable than you’re givin’ her credit for,” Jimmy glances over at Clyde poignantly before he continues, “If you’ve got good intentions, I’m sure you could make her understand. So do ya?”

Clyde’s eyes go wide, offended at the mere idea that he could have anything but good intentions for someone so perfect. Although deep down, he admittedly did have some less than savory thoughts about you, about your perfect body and your beaming smile and your charming laugh and your sing-song voice, and, “Course I’ve got good intentions! She’s, she’s amazing, she’s kinder than anyone else I’ve ever met, and she’s never anythin’ less than sweet’ta me. She’s beautiful, I ain’t ever seen anyone more beautiful, it’s like she’s always glowin’, and she’s so smart, we can talk about anythin’, and she always listens’ta me, like I’m interestin’ to her. She’s, I…” Clyde shuts his jaw tight, looking out the passenger side window, taking a deep breath in through his nose, trying to calm his quickly fraying nerves, knowing this was all a disaster waiting to happen, it’ll never work, Mellie will say no, and even if she didn’t, would you really wanna be with a guy like him? You could have anyone you want, why would you pick him, with his one hand and his intimidatin’ self and he doesn’t even have his own place, not yet at least. 

But before he can spiral any deeper Jimmy’s voice cuts through Clyde’s inner turmoil, “I’ll talk’ta Mellie.”

Clyde’s thoughts come to a screeching halt, he whips his head to face Jimmy who glances at him, trying not to take his eyes off of the road for too long. Suddenly Clyde feels like he has a mouth full of molasses when he tries to speak, working his mouth with much effort, “What?”

Jimmy keeps giving Clyde darting glances, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are warm, “I’ll talk’ta Mellie ‘bout (Y/N). And in return I want ya ta ask (Y/N) ta visit Duct Tape this weekend. Deal?”

Clyde can’t move, can’t even think, he just stares at Jimmy, jaw clenched tight, terrified of everything that’s about to transpire, of Mellie’s reaction, of your answer, of Jimmy even being willing to do this, “Why?” it’s all he can say, it’s all that’ll come out of his mouth.

“Because I want’ta see my brother happy, is’sat so much ta ask?” Jimmy’s eyes are warm, sincere, when he glances over at Clyde this time. It causes his breath to hitch, but he does his best to swallow it down, clearing his throat before he answers, “Deal.”

Jimmy pulls up in front of Mellie’s salon, putting the truck into park. He gives Clyde one more loaded, lingering look before he nods at him, then proceeds to jump out of the truck.

Clyde takes a deep, steadying breath, trying his best to center himself once more even though he can barely swallow around the ball of nerves sitting in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Clyde, he has no idea why we're suddenly so upset. And poor us! Is Clyde just too polite for his own good? Have we really had the wrong idea all this time?
> 
> And what about Jimmy's plan? Let me know in the comments how much of a disaster you think that is going to turn out to be.


	10. I Heard It Through The Grapevine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mellie looks away with a sigh, “But I know when he did know, an’ he lied to my face ‘bout it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" by Marvin Gaye
> 
> This is it, the truth is coming to light. How will everyone handle the revelations? Read on to find out!

“Good Mornin’, Sweetness,” the familiar greeting you’ve come to crave drips out of the mouth of the most handsome mountain of a man in Boone County, who’s standing before you wearing grey plaid and a shy smile. 

“Happy Friday, Clyde,” there’s no stopping the beaming smile that splits across your face at the sight of him. Whether he likes you or not, you can’t help how you feel about him. And how you feel about him is, well…

“How goes it?” his smile cracks a little wider, slowly matching your grin.

You come out from behind the counter, walking up to face him, craning your neck up to hold his gaze, putting a hand on your hip, “That’s exactly what I was about to ask you. How did it go fixing your sister’s toilet yesterday?”

His smile falters slightly, just a flicker, but you notice it. He swallows, shakes his head, seems to collect himself, “You’re gonna want’a sit for this one, it was a bit of a to-do.”

Your eyebrows raise, your mouth drops and you giggle, “That bad, huh? Alright, let me get your breakfast first then.” Clyde seems to ever so slightly lean in towards you, giving you a nod, but he almost seems entranced, the way he’s looking at you, expression soft, blissful.

You’re reluctant to walk away from it, from whatever is happening, but you did just say you were going to get his food, it would look too awkward if you continued to stand here, so with much effort you pull yourself away, swiftly heading for the kitchen, scooping up his plate of bacon, eggs and homefries.

You return to Clyde and lay out his breakfast spread, sitting and letting him push you in before he joins you in his own seat. It will never stop overjoying you to see how happy he looks when he first takes in the meal you’ve prepared for him. His expression is always pure appreciation, and today is no different, you watch as he admires his meal, sniffing the air, lifting his too-small fork in his too-large hand and taking a bite, before he launches into his toilet tale.

For the next half an hour Clyde has you rolling with laughter, hand gripping your side as it begins to ache from how hard and how long he’s had you in stitches. He and Jimmy had their work cut out for them it seems, the toilet having been completely stuffed. So stuffed, in fact, that they had to take apart the pipes. Clyde didn’t spare you any of the gross details, reckoning that he was the one eating, not you, therefore he wasn’t ruining your appetite, but truth be told, after hearing how Jimmy was literally sprayed in the face with sewage, you didn’t think you’d have much of an appetite for the rest of the day, even if it was hysterical.

“Needless ta’ say,” Clyde concludes, “Our sister owes us big time.”

“Darn right she does, wow! You and Jimmy are the best big brothers, I don’t know too many siblings who would take literal shit for eachother,” you shake your head in disbelief, your giggles finally dying down, wiping a tear that had gathered at the corner of your eye.

Clyde nods, his expression turning solemn for a moment, “We’re very close. ‘specially after our parents passed away. We’re all we’ve got.”

You nod in understanding, but a pang of guilt hits you square in the gut. You should ask him what his sister’s name is. You know you should ask him. They’re so close, they’re all eachother has, your secret could really drive a wedge between them, you don’t want to be the cause of that. But then you meet Clyde’s eyes, those whiskey pools pulling you in, you see that shy little smile crook up the corner of his plush lips, and you just… you can’t bring yourself to do it. Not yet. What if you were right and Clyde doesn’t even like you? Why cause unnecessary trouble. At least that’s what you tell yourself, as you reach out to pat Clyde’s hand, letting your fingers rest gently over his for a moment before giving them a reassuring squeeze, “Your relationship with them sounds wonderful, it’s so great that you have eachother.”

Clyde’s eyes swim with emotion, darting down quickly to catch a glimpse of your hand on his before they’re right back on yours. He swallows, turns his hand over, and gives your fingers a gentle squeeze in his massive palm, “It is.” 

You don’t want to pull away, reveling in the feel of his large hand surrounding yours, warm and protective, but he still has some food left on his plate, and you know he can’t eat it with his other hand, so with one last squeeze you remove your hand from his, using it to gesture to his plate, “If you still have any appetite at all after telling that story, then please, finish,” and instead place it on his left hand, letting your fingertips skim back and forth over the smooth plastic.

Clyde’s mouth drops open ever so slightly, eyebrows drawn and raised, eyes darting between yours and your hand, before pulling his mouth into a tight line, giving you a nod, and lifting his fork once more, letting his gaze fall back to his plate.

The tight line of his mouth gives way to a shy smile as he eats, which you notice no matter how he tries to hide it by tucking his chin in, which only serves to unleash a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You can’t help but notice how slowly he seems to be eating, and frankly you don’t care, you could sit here in comfortable silence stroking the plastic of his prosthetic while he happily eats the meal you made for him until the cows come home. You don’t let go until he finishes, and even then it’s only once you exchange pleasantries about how he’s going to be late for work.

When he says his goodbyes, his expression is hopeful, you think. 

So is yours.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Jimmy saunters into Mellie’s salon right around noon, catching her by surprise, “What’re you doin’ here?” She asks, not unkindly but certainly confused, in the middle of putting an older client’s hair into curlers.

Jimmy strolls over to Mellie’s station, leaning back against the countertop, giving her a look that lets her know he means business, “I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

Mellie levels him with an equally serious gaze, “You sure you wanna do this right now, or can it wait ‘til we’re at Clyde’s tonight?”

Jimmy shakes his head, “It’s ‘bout Clyde.”

Mellie completely freezes for a moment, her hands hovering over a roller as she stares straight at Jimmy. They stand like that for a beat, exchanging stares, before the client Mellie is working on clears her throat, “Sorry Purple Lady, let me get you under the dryer,” Mellie pulls her gaze from Jimmy just long enough to finish rolling her client’s hair, then pulls over the dryer and sets her up underneath it, knowing the noise of it will block out any conversation she and Jimmy are about to have.

When Mellie finishes setting her client up, she steps over to the hair washing stations, Jimmy following, taking a seat in one of the chairs while Mellie comes to stand in front of him, “What happened?” She asks, crossing her arms, voice heavy with concern.

Jimmy shakes his head, “He’s fine, it ain’t nothin’ like that. But he has found himself in a bit of a predicament.”

Mellie is giving Jimmy her most scrutinizing gaze, vaguely wondering if she might now what the issue is, but not sure enough to say it. Her silence is her indication to Jimmy for him to continue, “Our brother has a crush.”

“Yeah, on that nurse at the VA,” Mellie answers, scrunching her brows together in confusion, this wasn’t news.

But Jimmy shakes his head, “There ain’t no nurse at the VA.”

There’s a beat of silence, right then and there Mellie knows, somehow she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, “it’s (Y/N), ain’t it.” She isn’t asking, she’s telling.

Jimmy nods, confirming, but says nothing, giving Mellie a moment to absorb it. She thinks back to her conversations with you, about your handsome stranger who had started coming by the café, a shy fella, but kind. Now that she thinks about it, that was right around the time she noticed Clyde starting to act weird. “Does she know?” Mellie asks, not yet sure if she should feel betrayed or not, after she’d made it clear to you that she didn’t want you and her brothers crossing paths, “Does she know Clyde’s my brother?”

Jimmy shakes his head though, “She might be catchin’ on now, after we paid ‘er a visit yesterday, but she didn’t know before then, hell, she might still not know, not for sure at least.”

Mellie pauses, staring deeply into Jimmy’s eyes, assessing his honesty, before accepting this new information with a nod, “Alright, now tell me why you’re tellin’ me ‘bout this.” She levels Jimmy with a stern stare, not quite ready to hear what she’s almost certain he’s about to ask.

Jimmy swallows, working up his nerve, straightening up, “I want ya to give Clyde your blessin’.”

Mellie’s eyebrows shoot up, not exactly expecting that, “Ya want me to what?”

“Give him your blessin’. Mellie, he’s real sweet on your friend, sweeter than I ever seen him on anyone, ever. Hell, Clyde’s never been sweet on anyone to begin with. He’d be good to her, you know it. So I’m askin’ you to give him your blessin’ to ask her out, ” Jimmy finishes, folding his hands in his lap, keeping his expression neutral.

Mellie doesn’t move, her face doesn’t betray an inch, “I told you both I didn’t want ya’s involved with her. She’s my friend.”

Jimmy leans forward, “I know that Mel, but it was already too late. Please, Clyde’s a good man, he’ll do right by her. I’ve seen the two’a them together and it’s obvious they’re into eachother, but it isn’t just attraction. Your friend likes him, _really_ likes him, and if ya’ll are as close as ya say ya are, you already know this to be true.”

Mellie does know, she knows you’re an amazing person, that’s why she’s friends with you. And she knows her brother, Clyde is a good man, he has his demons but he wouldn’t hurt a fly, a girl like you would be good for him. And now that the pieces are falling together, she’s seen how the two of you look when you’re thinking about eachother. You’ve been on cloud nine ever since you first mentioned meeting Clyde, and the times you’ve gone out since then you didn’t give a second look to a single soul, it was as if you’d already made up your mind then and there that nobody else would do, nobody else was good enough. And Clyde, well, Jimmy isn’t wrong. Mellie had never seen Clyde look like that over anyone. She had honestly started wondering if her sweetheart of a brother would ever find himself a girl at all. She wanted him to, wanted him to be happy, and to make someone else happy, as she knew he could. Why not you? And then Mellie would get that sisterhood with you that she’s wanted, that she’s felt since ya’ll met, but, “But what if it doesn’t work out?”

Jimmy leans back, already knowing that he’s halfway to convincing Mellie, and shrugs, “Ya’ll are friends, I’m sure you could work it out, wouldn’t be your fault if things didn’t go well with your brother, you were plannin’ on keepin’ her away from us anyway, so what difference does it make?”

Mellie lets the idea turn over in her mind a few times, worried to jeopardize her friendship, excited at the possibilities, and, honestly, happy for Clyde. He’d been through so much, to think he’d found a girl who could make him happy, who already was making him happy… and at least Mellie knew she already approved of you, so there was that, “Alright,” Mellie nods hesitantly, leveling Jimmy with a serious expression, “I’ll give him my blessin’.”

“Thanks, baby sister,” Jimmy sighs, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He stands, “I had told him that if you’d agreed, he should ask her to come by Duct Tape tomorrow. If you wanna talk to her ‘bout this before he does, you should probably do it today.”

Mellie nods, stepping out of the way so Jimmy can head for the front door, “I’ll give her a call later.”

Jimmy stops just shy of the door, turning to look back, “Thank you, Mellie.”

Mellie looks out the front window before meeting Jimmy’s eyes, “It’s Clyde who should be thankin’ me.”

“He will,” Jimmy nods, “Tonight. It’s Friday, afterall. I’ll let you give ‘im the good news when you get to Duct Tape.”

Mellie gives Jimmy one last nod before turning her back on him, attending to her client, missing the smile Jimmy waits until he’s outside to let spread across his face, “That’s for makin’ you spend 90 days in jail, little brother. Now don’t say I never made it up to ya,” Jimmy mumbles to himself, getting into his truck and pulling away.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Mellie calls you just as you’re locking up for the day. 

“Hey girl!” you answer, happy to hear from her of course, but also partly over compensating for the guilt that’s pooling in your gut. You should just ask her, you’re friends, why can’t you just ask her? The dots you’re connecting can’t just be a coincidence, you know this, so why can’t you just ask her? But you know why you don’t want to, because you know her feelings on you being around her brothers. And selfishly, so selfishly, you don’t want to stop talking to Clyde. Even though Mellie is your friend, even though you care about her. But can you really do this, hurt your friend like this, over her own brother?

“Hey darlin’, when are ya lockin’ up?” Mellie asks, but she sounds off, not as bubbly as you’re used to.

The guilt in your gut roils, does she already know?

“Right now actually, funny you should ask,” you force out a chuckle.

“Great, mind stoppin’ by? Wanna tell ya ‘bout tomorrow night,” you don’t hear any background noise, must be another quiet Friday for her.

“Sure, be there in a minute!” you chirp, thoughts racing as to whether or not you’ll have a good enough poker face to hide this rising guilt.

“Great, see ya soon darlin’,” she replies before hanging up, and you can’t help but feel like she didn’t sound like herself. Maybe she’s just having a bad day, you think as you make the short drive over there. Maybe you’re blowing this out of proportion, going to worst case scenario too soon, just like you did with Clyde. 

Or maybe you need to not be an unintentionally shitty friend, and tell her what you think you know, even if it costs you.

You swing open the salon door to find Mellie pacing in front of a row of empty salon chairs, only stopping once she spots you, turning to face you, “Hey (Y/N),” she greets, but it isn’t right, it isn’t her.

“Hey Mellie,” you greet in return, stepping towards her, albeit cautiously. 

She stares at you for a moment, her expression unreadable, although you can tell she’s thinking. How reminiscent of someone else you know. She takes in a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

This isn’t good, you’ve never seen Mellie so serious, your brows wrinkle in confusion while the guilty knot in your stomach twists tighter, “Yeah, of course,” it almost comes out breathless, with how hard you’re suddenly finding it to breathe.

“Your handsome stranger,” she begins, watching you closely, “You said you found out his name, right?” She poses it as a question, but she already knows the answer. Right then and there, you know exactly where this is going. You clench your fists, steeling yourself for what’s about to come, nodding once as you respond, “I did.”

“What was it?” her eyes are boring holes into yours, if you lie she’ll know. This is a test.

A test you do not intend on failing though, even if it costs you Clyde. Mellie has been so kind to you, when lots of other folks were not. You owe it to her, you owe this to her, even if it means losing the only other person who’s been as kind, “Clyde.” 

With all of the breath sucked out of your lungs it comes out barely above a whisper, but she hears it, nods, finally letting her eyes drift from you for a moment, “Clyde Logan?”

You nod, a disjointed, forced nod, barely able to move at this point, being wound up so tight, knowing without a doubt that this is it. Even though she’s no longer looking at you she sees your gesture, nodding in return, “Do ya know what my last name is?” She doesn’t look back at you until you shake your head no, never having realized that it had never come up before.

She looks almost sad now, eyebrows drawn, her voice soft, “It’s Logan. Mellie Logan. Little sister of Jimmy an’ Clyde Logan.”

Finally hearing it out loud like this is what makes it real, it seems. Suddenly it’s almost comical how you hadn’t put it all together sooner. You gasp in a breath, your head already shaking back and forth, hands coming up to wave in front of you, “Mellie, please believe me, I didn’t know. I had no idea that you all were related. Honestly, it wasn’t until yesterday that I even began to suspect, all because the two of them came in and mentioned going to fix their sister’s toilet at a salon nearby. Before that, I didn’t even know they had a sister. If I would’ve known from the start, I would’ve—,” but Mellie shakes her own head, taking a step towards you, stopping your stream of apologies and excuses in its tracks, “You would’ve what? Told my brother ta’ stop comin’ by? I was listenin’, those times ya spoke about him. About how he came in every day, about how he spoke to ya, treated ya. Would you have really told ‘im to take a hike on my account?”

You exhale, letting your hands drop to your sides, looking defeatedly at your feet, “Yeah,” you croak out, nodding, “Yeah, I would have. Because you’re my friend,” you lift your eyes, looking resignedly at her face, “Because you’ve been like a sister to me these last few months. So yeah, if you’d asked me to, I would have.”

She studies your expression, eyes going soft, “I believe you,” she says with a nod, “I believe you.”

You tentatively step forward, lifting your arms hesitantly, but Mellie closes the distance, bridging the gap between you, wrapping you in a tight hug. 

“I’m sorry Mellie, I wish I’d known sooner,” you say, but Mellie only shakes her head, “It’s not your fault. How could you’ve known?”

You give eachother one more squeeze before letting go, knowing there is more that needs to be said about this.

“For what it’s worth,” you begin with a small shrug, “I know he didn’t know either. Not at first, at least, that you and I were friends.”

Mellie looks away with a sigh, “But I know when he did know, an’ he lied to my face ‘bout it.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “He did?” You don’t know what shocks you more, the fact that he kept it a secret, or the fact that he could lie to his sister like that. You know why you were hesitant to say anything to Mellie, but why would he be?

Mellie nods, meeting your eyes once more, “last week at his bar, I called ’im out. He was actin’ all dreamy, same as you.” You can’t help the way your stomach starts forming in knots again at that. Is Mellie implying that, well, that Clyde might feel the way you feel after all?

Mellie continues, oblivious to your budding revelation, “And I pressed ’im on it. Just before that I’d told ‘em both about ya, both him n’ Jimmy, but instead of tellin’ me the truth right then n’ there, he lied. Said it was some nurse at the VA named Enide, that had ‘im like that.”

You gasp when she says the name, beside yourself with the implication. Unconsciously your hand comes up to clutch your chest. It can’t be, can it? Just yesterday you were certain you’d been blowing his attentions out of proportion, but then this morning happened, and now this, and you don’t realize you’ve completely shut down until Mellie takes a step towards you, expression concerned, “You alright, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” you gasp a bit too quickly, “yeah, yes, I’m sorry, it’s just, I’m so sorry Mellie, that he lied about it. Why would he do that?”

Mellie shakes her head solemnly, eyes downcast, “I know exactly why. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

You look at Mellie questioningly, but when she meets your eyes she simply shakes her head once more, “Don’t you worry ‘bout me, I’ll get ‘im back for it.” It’s clear enough that she doesn’t want to talk about that, whatever the ‘why’ is, and even though your curiosity is eating you alive, you let it go, for Mellie’s sake. You owe her that much, for ever even considering keeping this from her in the first place.

“Anyway,” Mellie begins rebuilding her resolve right before your very eyes, straightening up again, expression clearing, “Let me call ya tomorrow ‘bout our plans, I haven’t had a chance to look anythin’ up yet.”

“Alright,” you nod, sensing that Mellie needs some time to swallow everything that just happened. And if you’re being honest, so do you. You step in to give her another hug, which she reciprocates, “Call me tomorrow,” you pull back and smile warmly at her, “I’m looking forward to it, just like always.”

“Yeah,” she nods, giving your arms a squeeze and matching your smile before letting you go, “me too.”

You say your goodbyes and you head back out to your truck, head full with way too much to think about.

~.~.~.~.~.~

The Friday night dinner crowd are making their way into Duct Tape when Jimmy walks in, taking his usual spot at the bar. Clyde approaches him tentatively, bubbling with curiosity yet apprehensive with fear, unsure of how Jimmy’s conversation with Mellie had gone. Jimmy betrays nothing, his expression blank as he settles in, giving his brother a nod in greeting. Clyde’s expression is similarly blank, but it’s tenuous at best, his guts are practically turning inside out. But Clyde waits, he simply stands before his brother on the other side of the bar counter and awaits Jimmy’s news. But Jimmy continues to sit in silence, glancing from Clyde, to the television beside the bar, completely impassive.

Clyde feels like he could burst, busying himself by getting Jimmy a beer, hand beginning to shake so badly that he almost drops the bottle as he uncaps it.

Why won’t Jimmy say anything? The only logical explanation for his silence is that Mellie must have said no, and Jimmy just doesn’t want to hurt him. That has to be it, otherwise why wouldn’t Jimmy just tell him? Jimmy knows how much this means to him, Clyde all but poured his heart out yesterday about his feelings for you, hell he even agreed to ask you to come by Duct Tape. Clyde can feel the tremor in his hand begin to work up his body, quickly shoving his hand into his jeans pocket, trying to instead focus on calming his breathing. He can’t get upset about this, he knew himself that Mellie wouldn’t be happy about this, and he’d told himself that if that were the case, he’d walk away from you. So why does his heart feel like it’s going to beat right out of his chest at the thought of doing so?

He looks down at his prosthetic, now replaced with the metal one Jimmy had gotten him, the one he favors wearing to work because it helps him do his job, turns it over palm up, and flexes the fingers. Maybe it’s just as well, that Mellie said no. it’ll save him the heartache of having to hear it from you.

Jimmy takes a sip of his beer, watching Clyde carefully. To anyone else, Clyde looks as stoic as ever. But to Jimmy, he sees the tremble in Clyde’s right hand, sees the way he’s pressing his lips together and knitting his eyebrows. Jimmy knows that right now he’s killing Clyde, but he also promised Mellie that she’d be the one to tell Clyde about her decision, and so he keeps his mouth shut. Mellie should be here soon anyway, Clyde’ll only have to suffer a little longer. Jimmy did as much as he could do, now it’s up to Mellie and Clyde to finish ironing things out.

About halfway through his beer, Mellie arrives. She too is wearing her most stoic expression, taking a seat next to Jimmy, giving him a nod before turning her full attention to Clyde. Clyde stands with his hands at his sides, stock still, holding Mellie’s gaze.

“You lied to me, Clyde,” Mellie states unwaveringly.

Clyde swallows thickly, he knew she wouldn’t be alright with this, he knew, but it still hurts so much to hear, “I’m sorry, Mellie,” is all he manages to croak out.

“I’m yer sister Clyde, why would ya lie ta’ me?” Mellie presses, leaning in towards Clyde ever so slightly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Clyde finds it very hard to breathe suddenly, clenching his fists and slowly pulling in a breath through his nose, quietly lamenting, “I didn’t want’ta upset you.”

Mellie’s eyebrows quirk up, “Well good job ya did of that,” she quips, looking to Jimmy briefly before fixing Clyde with her intense stare once more, “Now how about you try again. Is there somethin’ you wanna ask me, Clyde?”

Clyde stands unfalteringly still, military habits die hard as he’s one to say, but his head is absolutely spinning. Mellie wasn’t normally cruel, but was this his punishment for attempting to hide his knowledge of you? Was she really going to make him ask out loud to know you, so she could shut him down herself? He takes another steadying breath, trying to find exactly what it is he should even say, letting his eyes drift to the bar top for a moment before finding Mellie’s again, the words dripping out slowly, hesitantly, “May I invite (Y/N) to Duct Tape tomorrow night?”

“Why do ya want’ta invite her here, Clyde?” Mellie presses, letting her crossed arms settle on the edge of the bar top.

“Because,” Clyde starts, but loses his mental footing, can he really say this out loud again? But then he looks at Mellie, at his baby sister, who has done so much to help him, who has always been there for him, and suddenly his heart aches with how sorry he is for ever trying to hide this from her to begin with. He clears his throat and tries again, “Because I like her, I like her a real lot, she’s all I ever think about anymore, she’s incredible, and I’d like to try and,” his mouth shuts tight, lips pressed together, finding his words, “I want to have something with her. If that’s alright with you, Mellie.” Clyde finishes with a gasp, trying to suck back in whatever just bubbled out of him, honey eyes pleading with Mellie.

Mellie holds his broken gaze for a moment before looking away, pulling in a shaky breath of her own, “Alright Clyde,” she relents, turning back to him, “You can ask her out.”

Clyde’s right hand begins to tremble again, so he quickly shoves it back into his jeans pocket, “Thank you Mel,” he replies with utmost sincerity, overwhelmed with excitement and fear. His sister, by some miracle, decided to humor him. 

Now he just had to hope you would agree as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended it on a cliffhanger, but it isn't really a cliffhanger, because we all know what our answer is lol!


	11. Rock You Like a Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Showtime, babygirl,” Jimmy announced as he pulled into Duck Tape’s parking lot, “Clyde might hit the floor before you even have a chance to make a move on him, seein’ how you’re dressed tonight. Has he ever seen you out of those frilly little girly dresses you wear for work?”  
> “No,” your giddy nervousness nearly hitting its peak, “This is the first time he’s seeing me out of the store, let alone not in my work clothes.”  
> “Is this how all the girls dress for a night at the bar where you’re from, in the big city?” Jimmy parks his truck and jumps out, coming around to get the door for you and help you down.  
> “Only when they want to impress someone,” you smirk at him, taking his hand as he helps you out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Rock You Like a Hurricane" by Scorpions
> 
> THIS IS IT! The smut has finally arrived! It only took 11 chapters lol  
> Consider this your smut warning, if you indeed need one. From here on out my plan is to have varying degrees of smut in every chapter. No idea if I will be able to stick to that, but that's the plan!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, it is by far the one I am the most nervous about posting. That being said, words of encouragement if you did indeed enjoy it would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Now, saddle up, cowgirls ;)

When Clyde walks in to Sip of Sunshine Saturday morning, he seems to be more on edge than usual. You immediately pick up on it, on the way his shoulders are a bit pinched up, the way his brow has dropped, the way he’s tilting his head down, tucking his chin a bit. Your usually cheery mountain man is far from cheery, and you can’t help the concern that drips out with your greeting, “Good Morning, Clyde! Everything alright?”

Your voice seems to snap him from his anxious reverie, at least enough to soften the slope of his brow, “Good Mornin’ Sweetness,” he croons, “I’m alright, my head’s jus’ somewhere else today.”

You come out from behind the counter to stand before him, reaching up to smooth your hands along his hunched shoulders, smirking softly, “I know the feeling. But hey, it’s Saturday, and you know what that means; tomorrow is your day to relax.” As you run your hands along the broad expanse you feel them begin to sink ever so slightly, so you continue to rub back and forth along them, until his whole posture seems to melt a little. Clyde doesn’t move otherwise, his hands are kept firmly at his sides, head tilted down, watching your face, but you see how his honey eyes simmer and swirl, how the tension leaves his features bit by bit, as his shoulders drop to their appropriate height.

Clyde takes a deep breath, voice a deep purr, “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Of course,” you respond, still running your hands along his strong shoulders, even though the tension has long since left them, letting your finger tips skim the collar of his navy blue button down before flattening your palms along the planes of his shoulders again.

“Are ya busy tonight?” 

Your wandering hands come to a halt, stunned by what you think Clyde is about to ask. But what about Mellie? You and her almost always spend Saturday nights together. She hadn’t told you your plans yet, but it was implied that you’d be spending it together. Would she understand if you declined this one time? Would it being on account of Clyde make it any better, or worse?

Curiosity gets the better of you though, curiosity and yearning, “No,” you shake your head, “Normally I would go out with my friend, but she and I haven’t made plans yet.”

Clyde swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, “You mean my sister Mellie?”

Even though you already know it to be true, hearing it come out of his mouth has you gasping, as if the other shoe has finally dropped. You subconsciously flex your fingers, letting them drop down to his biceps, steadying yourself once more, your voice quiet, “Yeah, I mean Mellie.”

Clyde’s right hand raises up to loosely encircle your left bicep, “I spoke to Mellie,” he croons, letting his fingers skim down the length of your arm, “She’s okay with it,” he freezes, eyebrows shooting up in concern, “If ya want to, o’course.”

Your brain is short circuiting with the amount of sensations you are simultaneously feeling, between his large fingers dragging down your arm, the words coming out of his mouth, the molten eyes boring into yours, it’s all too much, “Okay with what?” you ask, not sure if you missed a piece of the conversation or if your brain has just stopped working.

His eyebrows knit together, his fingers finish their path to your wrist, circling it, pulling it from his bicep so that he can take your small, delicate hand inside of his enormous palm. He looks at your joined hands for a moment before finding your gaze again, “Okay with me invitin’ you to my bar tonight,” he searches your eyes before throwing on, “If you’re interested.”

You’re nodding before you can even get the words out, “Yes, yes I’d love that, I’d love to come to your bar tonight,” it comes out of you in a breathless rush, “yes.”

He begins to smile, a slowly spreading grin that splits across his face, squeezing your hand gently, “Really?” 

You nod even more enthusiastically, “Yes, I want to come,” a grin growing across your own face to match his.

He looks positively giddy, squeezing your hand again, letting his large thumb brush across your knuckles, “Great,” he nods, “I’m, _gosh_ sweetness, I’m real glad to hear that.”

You giggle, unable to contain the nervous bubbles of excitement multiplying in your tummy. “Oh!” you exclaim, “Oh no, your breakfast!” In the heat of the moment you’d completely forgotten that Clyde’s food was still sitting on the stove. You pull away from him and run to the kitchen, quickly switching off the burner. The bacon was, well, it was definitely burnt. You plate his meal and come back out, a little redder than you’d been when you left, if that was even possible. But Clyde just stands there grinning, not even phased.

“Sorry Clyde,” you say sheepishly, putting the plate down on the table, “Your bacon is, well, it’s burnt alright.”

Clyde just chuckles, waiting for you to settle in to your chair so he can push you in, “That’s alright sweetness,” he sighs, “it’s exactly the way I like it.”

As he eats, he informs you of the name of his bar, Duck Tape, and where it’s situated. 

“I’m not sure I know how to get there,” you admit with ruddy cheeks.

“That’s alright,” Clyde dismisses, “I’ll have Jimmy pick ya up, no need’ta fret.”

“Oh!” Not quite what you were expecting, or hoping for, but alright, “Sure, that’ll be great, thank you.”

Clyde is pleased as punch, wearing an unfaltering smile for the duration of his meal.

When it’s time for him to go, he reaches out for your hand, giving it a squeeze, “I’ll see ya later, Sweetness.”

You blush furiously, biting your lip as you nod and respond, squeezing his hand back, “See you later, Clyde.”

~.~.~.~.~.~

That night, you go for an old favorite from your closet, something you hadn’t worn since moving out here. You pulled out the hangar holding the scoop neck, sleeveless, knee length black bodycon dress in question, admiring it for a moment. It may be a bit over-dressy, if Mellie’s description of Duck Tape serves as any indication, but for Clyde, well, you wanted to do something special, wear something he wouldn’t soon forget. You pull it on, finish doing your hair and makeup, and are just slipping on your heels when the doorbell rings.

“Evenin’ (Y/N),” Jimmy beams, faltering slightly when he gets a good look at you, but playing it off quickly, “Your chariot awaits,” he jokes, gesturing to his pickup parked behind him.

“Hi Jimmy,” you smile, turning to lock your front door behind you, “I appreciate you giving me a ride tonight.”

Jimmy leads you to his truck, opening the door for you as you carefully climb in, “Ain’t no trouble,” he shrugs, “Plus, it’ll give me a chance to pick your brain a bit.”

You’re not sure if you like or hate the sound of that, but regardless, it’s too late now. He shuts your door and you buckle in, preparing for whatever it is he’s going to say.

It isn’t until you’ve pulled away from your street though that Jimmy finally speaks up.

“He ain’t never gonna make the first move,” Jimmy glances over at you, “I know my brother like the back of my hand. He’s sweet on ya, very sweet, but he ain’t never gonna make the first move. Too afraid he’ll scare ya off, or that he’s got the wrong idea about ya. Does he? Are ya sweet on my bother?” Jimmy watches you out of the side of his eye, waiting for your response.

You take a steadying breath, absorbing everything Jimmy has just laid out for you, appraising your own feelings. Finally, you exhale and meet Jimmy’s eye, “Yes, yeah.. I’m.. I’m ‘sweet’ on him. I like him.”

The admission, saying it out loud, suddenly has you feeling giddy, like the words hitting the air make them real. 

Jimmy smirks and averts his eyes back to the road, “I figured, I had a feelin’. Seein’ how you’re dressed tonight practically set it in stone, but I just wanted to be sure. In that case, now you know what you have to do. Don’t wait for him to make his move, or you’ll be waitin’ from now until next Christmas. Tonight, I wancha ta grab that blockhead brother a’ mine and give ‘em a smooch, he won’t know what hit ‘em!” 

Your brain conjures up an image of you stomping up to Clyde, grabbing him by his collar, yanking him down to your level and planting a big ol’ kiss right on those plush lips of his. The thought makes you giggle, which broadens Jimmy’s smile.

Jimmy side-eyes you again, “Think you can do it?” he asks, that little smirk back on his lips.

“I’ll figure it out,” you mumble, gazing out the passenger side window, already concocting how you were going to get Clyde alone. Jimmy’s odd request has gotten you curious though, “Hey Jimmy, can I ask you something?”

“Anythin’ sugar, what’s on your mind?” he responds casually.

“Why are you asking me to make a move on your brother?” You can’t help the little grin that splits your mouth as you finish asking the question. You already know the answer, but you want to hear it from Jimmy. You know how close the Logan siblings are to one another, why else would Clyde trust his heartthrob of a brother to pick you up from your house, where you live alone, and safely escort you to Duck Tape on a Friday night while you’re dressed to kill? Because Clyde trusts Jimmy with his life, that’s why, and because Jimmy, well, “Because my brother has been head over heels for ya’ ever since the day he walked in ta Sip o’ Sunshine and saw you standing there dressed in that little yellow dress beaming at him like the sun isself. I ain’t never heard my brother talk about any woman the way he talks about you, hell, I ain’t never heard my brother talk about a woman, period. But I know him, even though he thinks the sun shines outta that pretty little peach of an ass you got there, he won’t ever make a move to seal the deal. And I can’t bear to watch him let you get away from him, not when I know how he feels about ya. And don’t think I didn’t already know the feeling was mutual, I asked to confirm, but I knew. I saw the way you looked him up and down that day me and him stopped in to grab coffee on our way to Sadie’s pageant. You practically licked your lips--” 

“Jimmy Logan!” you cry out indignantly and slap his arm before you both start laughing, but he continues, “What? It’s true! You were practically trippin’ over yourself to take care of us that day, your eyes didn’t leave Clyde for one second, I don’t think you blinked once until we left!” 

“That’s enough outta you, Jimmy Logan!” you give him one more playful arm slap before turning back towards the passenger side window to hide your blushing grin. Jimmy wasn’t lying, you remembered the day he was referring to, Clyde was wearing a red and black plaid flannel shirt tucked into black jeans that hugged him in all the right places, you always were partial to red and black, but on him… okay, yeah, Jimmy was right, your eyes didn’t leave him until he walked out the door, but still! 

“Or what about Thursday when me and Clyde were on our way to Mellie’s salon ‘cause she needed help with the toilet after it got backed up, and he insisted we stop at Sip o’ Sunshine to pick up coffee and pastries first, and we ended up spendin’ a good hour in there ‘cause you and him got to talkin’ about some movie ya both watched the night before, and somehow we left with fresh coffees, a bunch of cookies and pastries, AND homemade sandwiches for lunch, when I KNOW Sip o’ Sunshine don’t have no lunch menu!”

You can’t help but laugh. You know you’ve been laying it on pretty thick with Clyde, mostly because you had a feeling he’d be too much of a gentleman to do anything unless he was sure you were interested in him, so you wanted to make your interest VERY clear. Him asking you to come to Duck Tape tonight was a good sign, in your opinion. When you told him you were unsure of how to get there on your own, you’d said it in the hopes Clyde himself would pick you up, but maybe things worked out for the best. Getting to spend this time with Jimmy, hashing out your feelings for Clyde, has really got you feeling good about tonight. 

“Showtime, babygirl,” Jimmy announced as he pulled into Duck Tape’s parking lot, “Clyde might hit the floor before you even have a chance to make a move on him, seein’ how you’re dressed tonight. Has he ever seen you out of those frilly little girly dresses you wear for work?”

“No,” your giddy nervousness nearly hitting its peak, “This is the first time he’s seeing me out of the store, let alone not in my work clothes.”

“Is this how all the girls dress for a night at the bar where you’re from, in the big city?” Jimmy parks his truck and jumps out, coming around to get the door for you and help you down.

“Only when they want to impress someone,” you smirk at him, taking his hand as he helps you out.

Jimmy smiles and shakes his head, taking off his baseball cap and dragging his arm across his forehead, “My quiet, shy, old-fashioned brother... One time I dragged him to a strip club, he pouted the whole time, he said it felt “disrespectful to look at ladies naked if they wasn’t your sweetheart.” I can’t wait to watch his heart stop when you walk through that door.”

You must be blushing redder than a tomato, you can feel it. Sweet Clyde, of course he’d say something like that. Maybe you were laying it on too thick, Jimmy was starting to give you second thoughts…

“Don’t go gettin’ nervous on me now, come on,” Jimmy brings your thoughts back to the present, giving your arm a light tap, “if I didn’t know any better I’d say you two was made for each other, one’s shyer than the other, shit.”

You swallow down your nerves and follow Jimmy to Duck Tape’s front door. He holds it open for you and you step inside, holding your breath.

The place is nice, spacious but cozy, lots of wood paneling, it reminds you of a hunter’s lodge. The large, rectangular bar sits in the center of the room, dotted with patrons. You spot Clyde as he hands a beer to one of the patrons, his broad back to the door, shoulder blades straining against his navy blue button down shirt. Clyde turns towards you and freezes, eyes going wide. His lips part in a quiet gasp as his gaze flits from your head to your toe once, twice, before finally finding your eyes again. You hear Jimmy snicker behind you, “told ya,” he whispers.

Jimmy steps around you and proceeds to the bar. Finally releasing the breath you’d been holding you follow close behind, your eyes never leaving Clyde. You watch as his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, before he finally begins approaching the area of the bar that you and Jimmy are now taking seats at.

“Good evening (Y/N), Jimmy,” Clyde nods in succession as he greets you, his voice is lower than usual, deeper.

“Evenin’ Clyde,” you can hear the shit-eating-grin on Jimmy’s face, he’s enjoying this way too much.

“Good evening, Clyde. How’s your night been so far?” you reply, doing your best to control your nerves, trying to spread that carefree smile across your face. You’re smiling, there’s no doubt about that, seeing Clyde always makes you smile, but it is far from being carefree, not right now, not when he’s looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you. He’s never looked at you so intensely before, unconsciously you cross your legs.

Clyde finally breaks his gaze from you, averting his eyes to the floor, “It just improved significantly, as a matter of fact,” his eyes dart back to yours briefly, hazarding a glance to see your reaction, before returning to the floor. 

Clyde is always a bit shy, yes, but normally he isn’t so bashful about complimenting you. Is this because Jimmy is here? Is it because of how you’re dressed? You decide to push him a bit, “That wouldn’t have anything to do with little ol’ me, now would it?”

At your response, his eyes come back up to meet your gaze, a blush starting to form on his neck, you can see it peeking out from underneath his collar as it spreads upward. His eyes are burning into you, and it takes everything in you not to look away before he finally breathes out, “Always, darlin’.”

This time you’re the one who gasps. These heavy attentions from Clyde have you absolutely flustered in the best way imaginable. Maybe making a move tonight won’t be as hard as you thought, if this is the kind of mood he’s in.

Beaming, you lean forward on your elbows, propping your chin up on your palm, and respond, “Well it’s about time I returned the favor. I can hardly remember what it was like working at Sip of Sunshine before you started coming by. You’ve certainly brightened my days, I’m glad I could finally do the same for you.”

A small smile quirks Clyde’s lips, it’s that bashful little smile he gets when he’s about to say something sweet and flirty, this is the Clyde that you’re familiar with, “I couldn’t imagine startin’ my day without a cup a’ coffee and somethin’ sweet from ya, sweetness. I look forward to it every day.”

You giggle, leaning further forward, folding your arms across your chest, “Clyde Logan, you are sweeter than all of the pastries in my little shop combined.”

His smile spreads a little wider, you can tell he’s loosening up, “I’ll never be as sweet as you, sweetness. That’s why you’ve got the best pastries in all a’ Boone County, on account of how sweet ya are.”

“Well eating so many of my pastries must be having an effect on you, because you’re about to give me a cavity with all of this sweet talk,” you feel a blush heating up your cheeks. 

Clyde must notice because he plants his palms on the edge of the bar and leans towards you, a grin splitting his face, but before he can get a word out Jimmy butts in, “Shit, all of this sweet talk outa the two of you has given me a stomach ache.” 

Startled by his sudden outburst, both of you turn to look at Jimmy simultaneously, seemingly having forgotten that you weren’t alone in the café like you were used to being.

Jimmy moves to stand, “If it’s alright with the two of you, I’mma head out. Sylvie should be home by now and I promised her dinner and a movie.”

As Jimmy gets up he turns his back to the bar, shooting you a quick wink before bidding you and Clyde goodnight. I guess Jimmy feels his job here is done, and frankly he isn’t wrong, if the two of you had leaned in just a hair closer to each other you would practically be kissing.

You turn your attention back to Clyde who is once again looking at you intently, still leaned forward with his palms planted on the bar. You bite your lip absently, letting your eyes fall to the bar’s surface briefly, once again taken aback by that intensity coming from him. He clears his throat, seeming to notice your reaction, and the fire in his eyes softens a bit, “Can I get you a drink, sweetness?”

“I’d like that, yes,” you nod.

“what’ll it be?” he asks.

You think for a moment, back to the first time you met Clyde, the first time this tall, dark, handsome man stepped through the front door of your humble little coffee shop and into your life with that halted, bowlegged gait of his. When you had asked him for his order, your eyes scanning his face, taking note of every freckle, becoming absorbed in those gorgeous golden eyes of his, he had replied,

“Whatever you think will suit me,” you respond, that beaming smile right back on your face. 

If Clyde remembers his words from that fateful day, it’s hard to say, he grins all the same and nods, “Comin’ right up, sweetness,” before turning away from you to get to work.

Watching him mix has you enraptured. For someone so large, who only seems to be using his right hand to create your drink, he is surprisingly graceful. Occasionally he hazards a glance at you, just to see if you’re watching him, but truth be told you can’t tear your eyes away. He places a napkin down in front of you, sits your drink on top, and carefully slides it towards you. The drink appears tropical, so out of place in this establishment, a gradient of yellow to orange to red, topped off with a slice of orange and a cherry. You admire it for a moment before you lean in, taking a sniff, a whiff of orange filling your nose, and finally wrap your lips around the straw, taking a sip.

“Mmmm…” you close your eyes and moan, slowly swallowing, leaning back once more. When your eyes reopen Clyde is once again staring at you intensely, putting his palms back down the bar as he again leans towards you, “Do you like it?” It comes out as a rumbled whisper.

You swallow again, but this time it’s to stomach the heat rising from your core at the sight and sound of him. You lean in towards him and softly, softer than you intended to, you answer, “I love it, it’s absolutely delicious. What’s it called?” 

“Tequila Sunrise. It’s sunshine sweetness, just like you, so I thought you might like it,” Clyde leans in closer, his eyes flicker down to your lips and your breath catches in your throat. 

This is your chance.

“Hey Clyde?” the words come out breathy, if he weren’t so close right now he wouldn’t have heard you.

“Yeah, sweetness?” his eyes, half lidded, are still on your lips.

“Wanna step outside with me for a minute?” you lick your lips and swallow, trying to keep your train of thought from slipping away, “I could use some fresh air, but I don’t want to be out there alone.”

Clyde’s tongue darts out to lick his lips as well, his eyes finally finding yours once more, “whatever you want sweetness, lemme ask Earl to watch the bar.”

You nod, and even though every fiber of your being is screaming not to, you pull away, hopping off of the bar stool. That seems to break the spell that’s fallen over Clyde, or maybe casts an entirely new one, because suddenly he is moving like a man possessed, swiftly making his way over to Earl, mumbling something rushed in the man’s ear, before making his way to you. As he approaches you turn and head for the door, knowing without a doubt that he’s following you, even if those heavy footfalls didn’t give him away. A prosthetic hand you aren’t familiar with, gray and mechanical, juts out beside your head to press the door open for you before you can lay a finger on it. Ever the gentleman, that Clyde Logan. The cool night air hits your skin and goosebumps immediately spread. You step onto the porch and turn right, walking to the far side of it before finally turning, crossing your arms, and leaning your back up against the railing. Clyde mimics the movement beside you, stretching his arms out behind him along the railing, close to you but at a respectful distance. 

“It’s a bit chilly out tonight, or maybe it’s just from having been inside in the warmth for so long,” you rub your upper arms with your hands for effect, and take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you’re about to ask, “mind sharing some of that body heat with me?” 

Clyde doesn’t say anything right away, so you work up the courage to look up at him. He’s staring at you, that intense look is back in his eyes, and all he does is nod once. You take your queue and, with your gaze trained on his face, sidle up to him, sliding one arm behind his back and resting the other on his chest. You feel his breath hitch when your palm settles on him, beneath your fingertips it’s as solid as marble, you knew Clyde had been in the service but you hadn’t known that he’d kept up with his training, he must be, with all the pastries you’ve been feeding him this past month there’s no way he’d feel this solid if he wasn’t.

You sigh, but it comes out so much breathier than you had intended, and Clyde’s whole body seems to tremble in response, his jaw working, adam’s apple bobbing, you go to speak but your words die in your throat with a gasp when you feel his left arm snap around your waist, prosthetic fingers digging into your hip, gripping you tightly to him.

He swallows once more before he speaks, “Better?” is all he manages to rumble out.

You smile and nod twice enthusiastically, not trusting yourself to speak. The hand you have resting on his chest slowly begins traveling upwards, seemingly gaining a mind of its own. As it gets closer and closer to his face your lips unconsciously part, Clyde’s seem to do the same in response, as his large, calloused hand comes up to cup your cheek, tilting your face up toward him. All at once, you lean up on your tip toes and he stoops down, and your lips meet in the middle. Your hand finally finds his cheek and your thumb absently strokes a soft line across his cheek bone. The kiss is soft, you feel like you could sink into his plush lips, and his moustache tickles your face. 

You both finally break away to catch your breath, and lock eyes. Clyde’s golden gaze is absolutely smoldering, he looks like he is on the brink of eating you alive, barely restraining the urge. It sets something inside of you on fire, and suddenly you’re pressing up into his lips again, this time kissing him with more force. His response is immediate, like your pressure has broken the dam, and suddenly he’s pressing back, his mouth hot and heavy, his tongue prodding you for entry, his left arm pulling you flush chest to chest, his right hand diving into your hair, tangling in your locks. You gasp in surprise, and it’s all he needed to gain entry into your mouth. Your tongues dance and caress, rolling together. He sucks your bottom lip in between his teeth and bites, a low growl escaping him while you groan. You press against him fully, both hands coming up to tangle in his hair. 

This time when he squeezes your hip you tighten your grip on his ebony locks and the tug seems to do something to him, because suddenly the hand that was gripping your hip is now splayed across your behind, sliding down between your cheeks, and pulling you up, leaving you barely on your tip toes, pressing your pelvis into his, before he grinds forward into it. He is hard and thick and long, thicker and longer than you had imagined, and the sensation makes you moan in earnest. This seems to shake Clyde from his temporary reverie long enough to pull his face away and lock eyes with you. He’s searching for something, his eyes darting back and forth between yours, his breath coming in harsh pants. Your brain is pretty scrambled but you know he’s waiting for you to say something, do something, you realize he must be looking for your consent. Ever the gentleman, your Clyde. What should come out of your mouth is a simple ‘yes’, but all your lust-addled brain can seem to muster is, “Boy, I could kiss you all night.” You’re breathless, panting along with him, eyes dreamy, a small smile tugging at your lips. He appraises you for a moment longer before uttering a curse under his breath, what sounded a lot like, ‘ _fuck_ , sweetness’ and diving back in to ravage your lips.

His left hand presses your pelvis into his again, and when he rolls his hips and you moan he seems to catch it in his mouth, as if he’s trying to swallow it, savoring your pleasure. His hips roll again, and this time his straining bulge catches you at just the right angle, a delicious vain of pleasure shooting through your clit, and your moan is accompanied by a shudder, your legs give out for a moment, but you don’t budge, Clyde’s strong arms have you held tight and fast. “I’ve gotcha, sweetness,” he mumbles against your lips before he dives back in, rolling his hips with rhythm now as his tongue ravages your mouth. Your arms lock behind his neck and it’s all you can do to hold on while this big, strong, breathtaking man sets your insides on fire and turns your bones to jelly. 

“Clyde,” you manage to gasp out, “Clyde, _please_ , I--”

“Whatta ya need babygirl, tell me,” Clyde lifts you off of the floor, both hands under your ass, presses you up against the wall of the bar, and presses into you with renewed fervor. Your legs lock around his waist, forcing your dress up to your hips, and you cry out at the sudden overwhelming amount of contact on your clit, your panties barely serving as a barrier.

“I—oh, _Clyde_ —,“ you can’t even squeeze the thought out before you’re crying out again, dancing closer and closer to orgasm. You can hardly believe this is happening right now. Sweet Clyde, the same Clyde who has come into Sip of Sunshine every single day for the last month, who has never been anything short of a gentleman towards you, whom you’ve been dreaming about kissing and cuddling and touching since the day you laid eyes on him, currently has you pressed against the outside wall of Duck Tape while he thoroughly debauches you. Before your brain fizzles out completely the thought flits through your mind, Jimmy was right, you had to make the first move, but boy did Clyde make all the rest of them.

“I’m gonna—,” you cry out again, interrupting your sentence, “I’m gonna come!”

“Come for me sweetness, I wanna see it, wanna hear it, lemme see you come babygirl, come for me,” Clyde is babbling now, low and gruff, each fragment of sentence is punctuated with a grunt as he pistons against you, “let go, let me make you feel good, come on (Y/N),” until finally your body reaches a crescendo and you cry out one final time, your entire body tensing and shuddering, your nails digging deep into Clyde’s shoulders, before your entire body goes limp.

You sigh contentedly as the waves roll over you, lazily opening your eyes to lock your gaze with his. Clyde licks his lips and kisses you once more, softly this time, but heavy with meaning. You’re lowered to your feet but his arms wrap around your waist, continuing to support you while the orgasm’s effects slowly subside. 

Your lips part, and it’s obvious that Clyde has something to say but he’s hesitating, alternating between looking into your eyes and looking at your lips, all while his jaw works. You smile at him, that beaming smile he has come to adore, and it must give him the courage to finally speak, “I want to take you home tonight, but I don’t want things to move too quickly, and I know, if I took you home right now, they would. You’ve… you’ve got me real worked up right now, sweetness.” He says the last part with a small, self-deprecating smile. His eyebrows knit together as he continues, “I have… feelin’s for ya, and the last thing I’m lookin’ to do is squash somethin’ before it has a chance to start. So, I just want ya to know, that… that while nothing would make me happier right now then to bring you home, lay you across my bed, and bury myself in that juicy little peach of a pussy of yours, I’m not going to, and I hope that, maybe you’ll be willin’ to go out with me one of these nights so we can progress things at a reasonable pace.”

“I would love to go out with you, Clyde,” you don’t even hesitate, the words are tumbling out of your mouth the instant your brain thinks them. 

“Really?” he seems to perk up instantly, as if he’d been bracing himself for rejection, and his hands come up to cradle your face.

“Yes. I have feelings for you too Clyde, and I’d like to explore those feelings with you at your pace,” you finish, smiling sweetly up at him.

Your admission seems to steal his breath for a moment, and he stares deeply into your eyes with utter reverence, “thank you, sweetness. I never thought a guy like me would ever catch the eye of a beautiful ray of sunshine such as yourself. Jimmy must be right, I guess the Logan curse isn’t real afterall, because nothing other than luck explains how I managed to earn your affections.”

You giggle and give his lips a peck, “ _You’re_ the lucky one? I’m the one who was just thoroughly ravaged by the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Gosh now (Y/N), I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout all that,” Clyde is instantly blushing bright red from the tips of his ears to the collar of his shirt, “but I am glad you enjoyed my… ministrations. It sure seemed like you did from where I was.”

“Enjoy is an understatement,” you wink, “I only wish I could return the favor,” as if on queue, Clyde painfully adjusts himself, “but I understand, we’ll save that for our date.” The conclusion of your statement seems to have Clyde looking away and adjusting himself once more, while a small smile quirks the corners of his lips.

“Come on now sweetness, let’s head back inside. I’ll make ya a fresh drink and you can tell me how your day was,” Clyde seems to be ushering you back towards civilization if only to avoid further foreplay, but you allow it. The ice has been broken, it’s only a matter of time before things will progress, and you can be patient for your sweet Clyde. 

Clyde rests a gentle hand on your lower back as he guides you back to civilization, going so far as to pull your bar stool out for you and giving you a hand as you climb on to it. You thank him softly, wincing slightly as you settle onto your now rubbed-raw pussy. He sees your discomfort, and pulls the hand he’s still holding to his lips, giving your knuckles a delicate kiss, his eyebrows draw up, offering a silent apology. You smile at him, your own silent acknowledgement that all is forgiven. He has nothing to be sorry for really, the aftershocks of the orgasm he gave you are still tingling up your spine, this was just a small price to pay. 

He returns to his side of the bar, takes the now lukewarm drink he’d prepared for you, dumps it, and begins making a fresh one. Your eyes are following his impressive movements, but your mind is stuck on what just transpired outside. For someone so quiet, so shy, you certainly hadn’t expected him to unleash such a torrent of desire. Yes, you had noticed how the smallest of touches seemed to effect him, that was undeniable. But even then, his reactions had been, at best, comparable to your actions. What happened just now though had been overwhelming. Not in a bad way, no, not at all in a bad way, if Clyde had wanted to fuck you right there against the wall you might have let him, you’d only been dreaming of taking things further with him practically since the first day you met him. It was just surprising. If this month had been any indication though, you were learning more and more that Clyde was certainly full of surprises.

He places your fresh drink down in front of you with a shy smile, bringing you back to the present. You gratefully accept it, realizing just how warm and parched you suddenly felt.

Three hours later Jimmy saunters back in, catching the tail end of you and Clyde’s intense discussion of the Indiana Jones films. It hadn’t taken you both long to slip back into your comfortable rapport, and even though Clyde was working he made sure he spent plenty of time at your side of the bar. Seeing Jimmy appear almost felt like seeing your parent show up to bring you home after a playdate, both of you visibly sinking.

This was for the best though, Clyde wanted to take things slow, and a ride home from him at this point would most certainly not aid that.

Clyde walks you both out to Jimmy’s truck, opening your door for you, letting you settle inside before leaning in to give you a chaste kiss, pulling back just enough to rumble, “See ya Monday, Sweetness.”

The short ride home was occupied mostly by Jimmy’s cheers.


	12. I Just Want Your Extra Time and Your Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We make out with Clyde for 5,000 words. That's the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Kiss" by Prince
> 
> Hello friends! It was definitely made clear to me that you all really enjoyed Chapter 11, so for that I thank you, your comments really do keep this story going, keep me pushing my boundaries, and all that jazz. I wanted there to be more heavy petting in this chapter, but I spent too much time describing us making out with Clyde instead, so the heavier petting will come in Chapter 13, but never fear, I'd say the making out makes up for it. After all, we need a breather after how Clyde ravaged us in Chapter 11.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

Waking up Monday morning is a lot easier this time around than it normally is. Granted, it has been getting progressively easier ever since Clyde started coming around, but today in particular is proving to be quite the morning motivation. You spent all of yesterday daydreaming about what happened Saturday night, about his plush pink lips and his hot and heavy tongue and the tickle of his moustache and the rough rub of the thick marble pillar between his legs. So now that you’re finally going to see him again, after all of that, well, your feet have a mind of their own as they carry you swiftly to get ready for the day.

It’s a typical Monday morning at Sip of Sunshine, the usual crowd, the usual rush, you could prep everyone’s orders with your eyes closed if you really wanted to, and thank goodness, because your mind is still on the front patio of Duck Tape. 

As time ticks closer and closer to 10:30am, or what you’ve begun to mentally refer to as Clyde Time, the knots in your stomach wind tighter and tighter, you may very well come apart by the time Clyde arrives. Or rather, come apart _again_ , Clyde certainly made sure you came apart Saturday night. You wonder what he might say or do when he arrives, if he’ll bring up what transpired, if he’ll be too shy to mention it, frankly at this point you don’t really know what to expect from him, he certainly left you surprised on Saturday. Not unpleasantly so, of course, just, well, surprised. From your own experience with him you knew he was reserved around you, so much so that you had wondered if he was even interested. And Jimmy had made it clear to you that you would have to be the one to make the first move, implying Clyde would have a tough time doing so. But Clyde certainly didn’t have a tough time pressing you up against a wall and rubbing you raw, so really, you didn’t know what to expect anymore. That thought alone was thrilling. Maybe, maybe he would walk in, press you up against the display case, and continue what he started on Saturday. For all you knew, that option was as relevant as any of the others at this point.

At 10:30am sharp you watch as an olive green Pontiac Grand Prix parks outside, and your mountain man Clyde fold out of the driver’s side. His button down is the same shade as his car, and as he approaches, his smile slowly beginning to spread as he nears the door, seeing you seeing him, you think how nicely that color compliments his honey golden eyes. Clyde pulls open the door, jingling the bell, and in an almost Pavlovian response you grin widely, as does he, and he utters his usual greeting, “Good Mornin’, Sweetness.”

“Good Morning, Clyde,” you chirp, following your feet who are already moving of their own accord to come around the counter and meet him, “Long time, no see.”

He chuckles lightly at your quip, raising his right hand and reaching for you almost unconsciously, before he seems to catch himself, his hand freezing in mid-air, a breath away from your cheek. His eyebrows wrinkle in question, as if to ask you, _is this okay?_ You answer him by raising your own hand, laying it on top of his, and bringing it to your cheek, leaning in to the touch to better feel the callouses catch on your delicate skin. His expression melts, eyes warm with affection, as he lets his fingers roam, his thumb rubs along the bone of your cheek, his fingertips graze your hair.

He swallows heavily, his lips pressing together, when he finally opens his mouth his voice is deep, rough, like it got caught on the emotion bubbling to the surface, “I wanted ta thank you,” he starts, words practically a growl, “for Saturday, for lettin’ me,” he looks away for a moment, finding his words, “for lettin’ me be intimate with ya like that. I hope I didn’t get too carried away. I know I can be a bit… overwhelmin’.”

You give a sharp shake of your head, trying to school back the vehemence with which you want to answer, “There’s no need to apologize Clyde, that was, what you did, what we did, it was… it was amazing.” He studies your face closely, obviously hunting for any shadow of doubt, but there is none to be found. You continue, “If I’m being honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about what we did.”

“Me neither,” he growls.

You feel the shiver that his answer shoots up your spine, right back down to your cunt, which clenches when he decides to rest his prosthetic on your hip, using it to nudge you in closer to him. You swallow hard and let your lips part, it suddenly becoming harder to pull in breaths.

Almost gasping, you continue, “You really surprised me, Clyde.”

“I did?” he mumbles as his face inches closer and closer, his whole body curling in towards you as his left arm slides across your back, acting as a fulcrum to let him begin bowing you backwards.

You nod, not able to spare the breath at the moment, instead focusing on gravitating towards his pillowy lips, absently licking your own in anticipation.

He finally closes the gap, pressing his mouth to yours sweetly at first, softly, letting you revel in how lovely he feels, enjoying the way his supple lips caress your own. You grab on to his sides, digging your fingers in, finding purchase, gripping hard so as to anchor yourself to him, enjoying the feel of the muscles underneath, using the leverage to pull yourself impossibly closer. He feels you shift, feels you press your soft body further into his own, and it’s like flicking a switch, the hand that had been resting on the side of your face now drops to your neck, letting his fingers curl around your nape, pulling you closer, his thumb now tracing the column of your throat. His tongue emerges, swiping along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, which you grant with a moan. He answers with a groan of his own, tongue diving in to dance with yours, to taste you. You do your best to keep up with him, lost to the sensation as you are, happily resigned to letting this man pillage your mouth. Your mouths break away from eachother’s with a gasp, Clyde is panting heavily, his broad chest pressing in to yours with every labored rise and fall. His eyes are lidded with lust and absolutely wild, pupils blown wide, nothing but a ring of gold visible. They roam your face, your chest, any pieces of you that they can cover, and he swallows thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing in a way that makes you want to press a kiss to it, so you do. Just a quick peck, a little wet press of your pout, and you pull away with innocent eyes and a little smirk. 

Clyde swallows again, pressing his lips together tightly before a smirk cracks up at the corner of his own mouth, “I better,” it comes out as a croak, so he clears his throat, “I better stop now, or else we’re gonna end up givin’ your customers quite a show.”

You nod, speaking softly, “You’re right, that’s why we need to go on a date.”

He knits his brows, hand traveling up to tangle in your hair, pulling you back so he can look straight into your eyes, “You really want to?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out, biting it back as best you can, expression incredulous, “Isn’t it obvious?” 

He bites his lip, taking you in once more, before huffing out a laugh of his own, “Just double checkin’ darlin’ that’s all.”

You raise a brow at him in a gesture of ‘ _really?_ ’ and smirk, which only gets him to chuckle again.

“So when are you taking me out?” you ask, “because if we keep doing things like this it’ll be bad for both of our businesses.”

He grins, “We can’t have that now, can we? How ‘bout tomorrow night?”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion, “But don’t you have work?”

Clyde’s expression is sly, “I can call in a few favors.”

You study him for a moment, wondering what he means, but there is no hesitation in your answer, “Yes, tomorrow night works.” 

As your answer sinks in his expression turns almost giddy, “Great, tomorrow then. What is it you’d like ta’ do?”

“Surprise me,” you answer coyly, but he isn’t satisfied with your response, in fact it makes his expression turn nervous.

“I don’t want’ta dictate sweetness, tell me what ya like,” he insists, and honestly it’s endearing to know how much he values your input, how much he wants you to take the reins.

You think about toying with him, you are certainly noticing how much his take-charge behavior affects you if the wetness in your panties is any indication, but you decide to save your difficult behavior for the bedroom, “How’s dinner and a movie?”

He smiles, “Alright, dinner an’ a movie sounds perfect. Preferences?”

You quirk your brow and smirk, “That I’m leaving up to you. When you come in tomorrow tell me my choices and I’ll pick. How’s that?”

His expression tenses again, but he nods reluctantly, “Deal.”

“Excellent,” you lean up on your toes to plant one last kiss on his lips before you begin to pull away, “Now that that’s settled, go get comfortable, before your breakfast turns completely ice cold.”

The tenseness melts from Clyde’s face, thawed by the mention of your continuing predilection to provide for him, to care for him, softening the nervous ball formed by his fear of choosing a date activity that you would not want or like. The nervous ball formed by his fear of your rejection. It unravels bit by bit as you scurry into the kitchen, re-emerging with a plate full of food, a mug of steaming coffee, and a smile that’s just for him, just like he suspects the extra little wiggle in your hips is for him as well.

“Bon Apetite,” you drawl as you set down his plate and mug, lifting your eyebrows with a sultry grin for emphasis. He chuckles at your display, letting you slide into your chair, retaking your seat across from him before pushing you in. he takes his own seat, absorbing the bounty laid before him, and plants his hands on the table in eager anticipation before lifting his fork to dig in.

When it’s time for him to go, you make sure to give him a nice, long, lingering kiss, “Something to get you through your shift at the bar,” you whisper, your lips still grazing his as you speak, eyes lidded. Clyde’s grip on your waist is like iron, but with much effort he does eventually pull away, giving you one last longing look before wishing you a good day and stepping out into the September sunshine. 

~.~.~.~.~

“Good Mornin’ Sweetness,” Clyde drawls from the front door, barely even inside the café yet. It’s a particularly hot Tuesday morning, that oppressive August heat not yet ready to give way to September, yet Clyde looks almost unaffected, even in his light blue button down layered over a white undershirt, tucked into indigo jeans. Does this man ever wear shorts? You’re practically melting, wishing you’d chosen a summer version of this uniform that involved a lack of sleeves, and a more breathable material.

You grin, because Clyde makes it hard to do much else, and come around the counter to greet him properly, “Good Morning, Clyde,” you bubble as you rest your hands on his shoulders, stepping in close, pulling up on your tippy toes and leaning in for the kiss you know he will undoubtedly return. Which, of course, he does, bending down to meet you in the middle. His soft lips are so gentle at first touch, but quickly become hungry, his hands traveling from being respectfully planted on your hips to wrapping fully around your waist as his tongue slides out to ask for entry. Never one to deny such a sweet man, you part your lips, letting his clever tongue slide into your warm mouth. Your tongues dance together for a moment, reveling in their union, before Clyde reluctantly pulls away.

He swallows hard, but his grin is undeterred, his whiskey eyes eagerly searching yours, “I have some ideas fer tonight.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprised acknowledgement, “Is that so? Well, I’m all ears!” You tuck his ebony locks behind one of those adorably large ears for emphasis. 

He blushes a bit, but pushes on, “There’s an Italian place I know, do ya like Italian?”

“Who doesn’t like Italian?” you shrug, giving his earlobe a pinch.

He bites his lip, restraining a groan, letting his eyes flutter for only a moment before swallowing and resuming, “Well alright then Sweetness. And what about, well, I was thinkin’ for the movie,” you continue to rub at his ear, playing with the lobe, dragging a finger down the shell, watching as his eyelids flutter even as he tries to press on, “maybe we could see that new Mummy movie.”

You study his face, absorbing every small reaction being pulled from him as you play with his ear, feigning a contemplative look even though inside you’re squealing at how adorably he’s reacting to your fiddling, “The Mummy sounds like a good choice. Can’t go wrong with action. And the one from the 90’s with Brendan Fraiser is one of my favorites.” 

He nods, opening his mouth to answer, but before he can get a word out you lean up as far as you can on your tiptoes and pull his earlobe into your mouth, nibbling gently. He gasps, his whole body shudders, arms instantly locking around you, his right hand reaching up to tangle in your hair. You suck and nibble, enjoying the salty essence of him, letting the taste of his skin settle on your tongue before you pull away just enough to say, your voice husky, “I think you made excellent choices.”

Clyde’s eyes have slid shut, and the hand in your hair is tightened just to the point of pain. He’s breathing heavily now, rapidly, so it takes him a moment to try and even out his breaths, but when he does and his eyes finally open once more, his deep voice croaks, “Thank ya, Sweetness.”

You give him an innocent grin, slowly extricating yourself from his bruising grasp, “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” you finish by giving the fur on his chin a little scratch.

A moment doesn’t go by after that where either a hand or a leg isn’t connected to the other’s, even as he eats, even as he gets up when he’s done to pay his tab and head out. It isn’t until he’s making his way for the door, fingertips dancing along your shoulder blades until he reaches the threshold, your thumb hooked into the belt loops of his jeans, that you turn to eachother, releasing the other, exchanging one more firey kiss before he mumbles about picking you up at 5pm and finally drags himself away.

~.~.~.~.~

At 5:00pm sharp you hear the crush of tires on gravel pulling up outside of your house. Peeking out the window you spot an olive green Pontiac Grand Prix idling outside before the engine is killed, the driver’s side door pops open, and Clyde folds out. You’re practically giddy at this point, running to grab your purse and your shoes, flicking off the lights, trying your best to not keep your date waiting. Just as you plop down on the couch and pull on your boots the doorbell rings. You quickly clack over to door and throw it open, greeting your handsome suitor with a grin, “Good evening, Clyde.”

Clyde sucks in a breath, presses his lips together tightly, flicks his eyes over you, and releases the held breath, “Good evenin’, Sweetness. You look beautiful.” 

You blush, lips curling in satisfaction, “Thank you Clyde, that’s so kind of you to say. You’re looking mighty handsome yourself,” you respond with an appreciative glance, taking in his black button down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, top two buttons left open to reveal a black undershirt, tucked in to black jeans, and black cowboy boots. 

He blushes in response, grinning shyly, “I don’t know ‘bout that,” absently pushing his hand through his nicely coifed hair. You notice he’s wearing the prosthetic you saw him sporting at Duck Tape, but you don’t have a chance to dwell on it. “Come on, gorgeous,” he cocks his head towards the Pontiac and extends his right hand to you, “I got us a reservation.” You can tell he’s just looking to take the subject off of your compliment, but you comply, taking his offered hand and lacing your fingers with his thick digits. Instead of letting him lead you to the car right away though, you step up to him, leaning up on your tip toes and pressing your lips to his. Just before you let your eyes slip closed you see how wide his have blown, but the shock must wear off rather quickly because it only takes him a moment to respond, wrapping his left arm around your back and pulling you flush, pressing insistently with his pillowy lips, practically bending you backwards. As you finally pull apart you’re both left gasping, his lips, now even rosier than normal, pull into a smile which you mirror.

You smirk, cock your head in the direction of his car and seductively arch your eyebrow at him, “Lead the way,” you’re breathless already and the date hasn’t even begun, this is going to be a long night. Slowly, Clyde lets his left arm fall back to his side, releasing you from the bruising hold he’d pulled you into, and begins to lead you toward the Pontiac, fingers still laced together. 

Ever the gentleman, he opens the passenger side door for you and waits for you to settle in before shutting it, only releasing your hand when he no longer had a choice, but not before planting a kiss across your knuckles. You can’t help but notice how those plush lips of his manage to brush almost all four.

He slides in to his own seat and gives you a pleased glance before starting up the car, pulling back out on to the road smoothly. 

It isn’t a long drive, and it’s mostly spent chatting about how the rest of your day at the café went after he’d left. You regale him with your exciting afternoon routine of preparing pastries and sticking them in the industrial sized refrigerator to hold for the following day, of cleaning out the coffee pots and cleaning off the counters, of refilling cups and napkins. He listens intently, even though it’s all mundane stuff you’re explaining, the attention he’s giving you makes it seem like you’re charting out the route you took to uncover King Tut’s tomb. He keeps his eyes on the road for the most part, only occasionally stealing a glance at you, but when he does, it’s that attentive gaze he wears that makes your heart flutter. He nods and responds when he’s supposed to, asks a question here and there, he seems particularly curious about what makes you decide to make certain pastries on a given day, and you push him to give some suggestions of what he’d like to see you make, or make more of.

He pulls his plush bottom lip between his teeth and glances at you, “Well I guess if ya want my opinion, I’d love another one of yer peach cobblers.”

You smirk at him, “Are you going to eat it all in one day again, or will you make it last this time?”

He smiles, shaking his head, “Now Sweetness, you know that depends on whether or not Jimmy tries to get his hands on it. Just… don’t make it on a Saturday, or I’ll be forced to resort to drastic measures again.”

You giggle and wiggle your eyebrows at him, “Or maybe Sip of Sunshine will just have to do a delivery.”

Clyde’s head whips in your direction, eyes wide, pupils blowing out very black, very quickly, “Sweetness,” he licks his lips as he attempts to glance at the road, voice suddenly an octave deeper than it had been, “If you come knockin’ on my door with a peach cobbler, I can’t promise I’ll be lettin’ ya just leave.”

Now you’re the one biting your lip, pressing your thighs together at the implication of Clyde’s words, arching a brow at him, “You’re right,” Clyde meets your eyes, “I’d expect a tip.”

You watch gleefully as Clyde’s adam’s apple bobs, when he glances at you again his lips are curled into a smirk and his eyes are hungry, “I’m a generous tipper.”

Your face is completely flushed, you can feel the heat radiating from your cheeks, and from your cunt. 

It’s then that Clyde pulls in to the parking lot of the restaurant, and you can’t deny that you’re both relieved and upset. At least now you no longer run the risk of jumping Clyde’s bones right here in the car, which is where this was heading if he spent another second looking you at like he wanted to devour you.

He must be having this same inner monologue, if his hesitancy to move is any indication. He gives you one last loaded look before throwing open his door, coming around to open yours, offering a hand to help you step out. He pulls the hand he holds up to his lips for a kiss as you come to stand at your full height. He does it almost absently, as if now that he’s been given permission to put his lips on you there’s no reason not to. You do your best to ignore the wetness you feel gathering between the apex of your thighs and smile at him, waiting for him to pull his lips away before moving to link your arm through his left one, letting him lead you in to the restaurant.

It’s a quaint Italian place, nothing extravagant but with a real old-world charm to it, somehow completely fitting of Clyde. It’s surprisingly crowded for a Tuesday night, which stands as a testament to how good the food must be. Clyde gives his name to the hostess, who promptly seats you both, Clyde pulling out your chair for you just as he does every morning at the café. 

“This place is cute,” you smile at Clyde, taking in your surroundings, “Have you been here before?”

Clyde nods, expression somewhat wistful, “This was one of my mama’s favorites, we used to come here on special occasions.”

You smile warmly, reaching out to place your hand on top of his and giving his large fingers a squeeze, “Your mama had good taste.”

He turns his wrist to better grasp your questing fingers in his own, returning your smile, “That she did.”

You let your eyes linger on eachother, absorbing everything, the way your fingers are lacing together, the intimacy of where you are and what you’re doing, the way his golden gaze is glowing, both of you let it overtake you, reveling in the feeling of being out _together_. Intimate with _eachother_. After so much hoping and wishing and daydreaming, here you are. The importance of the moment is not lost on either of you. Clyde’s expression is soft, reverent, he gazes at you as one would gaze upon a goddess. You feel like your entire body is slowly being engulfed in flames, from your cheeks to your chest to the pit of your stomach. Suddenly you aren’t quite sure how you’re going to manage making it through dinner _and_ a movie without jumping his bones, if he doesn’t stop looking at you like that.

“Since you have more experience visiting here,” you start, it comes out breathy, unsuccessfully masking how breathless Clyde has already managed to make you, “how about you pick out our dishes?”

Clyde shakes his head, tightening his grip on your delicate digits, “I’d never presume to speak for ya, sweetness.”

“It’s alright,” you squeeze his large, calloused fingers back encouragingly, “I want your opinion, I trust your judgement. You’d know better than I what the best dishes to get here are. That’s the simple fact.”

Clyde still looks hesitant, nibbling the inside of his mouth in thought, “What if I jus’ make some recommendations, then ya pick from those?”

You can’t help the way your heart clenches at how considerate he’s being, even if it’s over something so silly. They don’t make men like this anymore. “Sure sweetheart,” you grin and nod, “that works.”

Clyde’s eyebrows knit together ever so slightly as the term of endearment falls from your lips, and you would like to imagine that had his hair not been hiding them, you’d see a distinct red tint to his ears. He swallows, lets his eyes wander as he thinks for a moment, before rattling off a few dishes, “I’ve always been partial to their lasagna, and the ravioli’s very good too. So’s the pasta alfredo. Oh, and the chicken francese, that’s Jimmy’s favorite.”

“What’s your favorite?” you ask.

Clyde looks thoughtful for a moment, “The shrimp fra diavolo.”

“Is that what you’re going to get?” you prop your other hand under your chin as you wait for Clyde’s answer. He nods in response, watching you carefully.

“Can I try some?” you press, putting on your best puppy dog eyes.

“Ya might not like it,” Clyde starts, expression almost guilty, “I was always the only one who liked it. It‘s not for everyone.”

“Well I won’t know until I try, now will I?” the layered meaning of Clyde’s statement is not lost on you, even if it may be lost on him. Something in your chest tells you there isn’t much Clyde could offer you that you _wouldn’t_ like, but he’ll learn that in good time.

When your waitress returns, you each put in your own orders, you having decided on a creamy Tuscan shrimp ravioli, and Clyde asks for a bottle of white wine for you to share.

You spend the time waiting for your meals chatting about the movie you’re seeing that night, the newest adaptation of The Mummy, wondering about how it might stack up against the Brendan Fraiser version of a few years ago, or even against the original black and white version. You learn more about Clyde’s film interests, and find that they aren’t so dissimilar from your own.

“We should watch the old black and white monster movies together, I haven’t seen them in ages,” you cheerfully declare, “it’ll be fun!”

Clyde nods in return, excitement building in his voice, “Jimmy’s got a projector an’ screen rigged up at our place, we could watch it in the backyard, pretend it’s like a drive-in, like the old days.”

“That would be great!” you all but cheer, slapping a palm over your heart, squeezing the hand you still hold in the other, “I’d love that. We could make popcorn, cozy up,” you wiggle your eyebrows at the last suggestion and Clyde bites his lower lip, his intense gaze turning mighty hungry. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of you, both excited and nervous at the prospect, at the feeling those eyes give you deep in your core, at the heat they build between your legs.

“It’s a date,” Clyde replies, his own nervous excitement dancing at the corners of his upturned lips, “If it works for you, we could do it on Sunday. Gives me time to get things ready for ya.”

You nod eagerly, bubbling over with excitement that already another date is being planned, another opportunity to be alone and hopefully intimate with this handsome man, “Sounds good to me!”

Clyde is pleased as punch, lips parting to boast a full grin. You will never, ever tire of seeing his adorable smile, it fills your heart in a way that nothing else ever has.

Your waitress returns with your meals, setting them down in front of you, mouth-watering just at the sight. You and Clyde toast to the evening and release hands for the first time since you sat down, but not before you move to take his prosthetic one. 

Just as you’d thought, and much to Clyde’s delight, the shrimp fra diavolo is delicious. Your meals are enjoyed in occasional moments of companionable silence, but not without an excess of lingering gazes and shy smiles.

When the plates are cleared and the bottle of wine is empty, Clyde checks the watch he has strapped to his left hand, “If you’re ready Sweetness, we should get goin’. Our movie starts in ‘bout 45 minutes.”

You nod, somewhat reluctant to leave this lovely little bubble the two of you have been reveling in, yet also nervously and excitedly anticipating what the dark of the theater will bring, “I’m ready, let’s go,” you quietly declare with confidence.

Clyde must be feeling the same way, if his tumultuous eyes are any indication, but he stands with the sort of resolve your voice just possessed, offering you his hand as you rise from your seat, and leading you back to his car.


	13. No Sweet Perfume Ever Tortured Me More Than This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minimal plot, maximum smut. Clyde is such a giver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Desert Rose" by Sting feat. Cheb Mami
> 
> I want to say a special thank you to user @AloneandSleepless on Tumblr. I had such conflicting thoughts about where to take Clyde's personality in this chapter, and she talked me through it. Honestly, if it weren't for her, you all would not have gotten the amazing smut that makes up 80% of this chapter. Thank you, beautiful!
> 
> If you ever feel like watching me struggle with my own thoughts, check me out on Tumblr, @contesa-lui-alucard
> 
> Now it's time to let Clyde worship you ;)

Ever the gentleman, Clyde holds the passenger side door of his olive green Pontiac Grand Prix open for you, waiting for you to settle into your seat. You exchange meek yet inquisitive glances with eachother before he swings it shut, communicating the anticipation and trepidation that you both feel. Just like the ride to the restaurant had been, the ride to the theater is a pleasant one, Clyde sharing some insights on Duck Tape’s regulars.

“How long have you worked there?” you ask, letting your eyes map out his features, his strong brow, his prominent nose, his plush lips, as you wait for his response.

“Been a few years now,” Clyde shrugs, “at least five, since I was handed the keys.”

At that you do a double-take, before something Mellie had mentioned what feels like a lifetime ago comes floating back to you, “You own Duck Tape.” It isn’t a question, it’s a re-confirmation.

He nods, glancing at you shyly.

Your eyebrows knit, incredulous, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Clyde swallows, seeming to mull over what exactly he wants to say, “It’s no big deal.”

“Of course it is,” you cut him off, “You own a business, that’s a very big deal, that’s something to be incredibly proud of.”

You hear the squeak of leather as Clyde’s hand tightens on the steering wheel, his lips pressing firmly together as he gives his head a shake, “I also…. When I found out you were Mellie’s friend, I didn’t… I didn’t wanna say too much,” he pauses, expression turned guilty, “I didn’t want ya ta put the pieces together ‘n figure out who I was, seein’ I knew Mellie’d told ya about me, and….” His eyes are glued to the road, knuckles white on the wheel, “It was selfish. I knew she didn’t want ya ta have anythin’ to do with me or Jimmy, but by then it was…”

He’s struggling, prying words and feelings out of himself, instinctually you rest a hand on his thigh, trying to bury the realization of just how thick and meaty it is, instead focusing on offering a comforting touch. The contact grabs his attention, pulling his focus from the road to your hand for just a moment. Pulling in a shaky breath, emboldened by your touch, he seems to steel himself to finish, “It was too late. I knew I… liked ya. More than liked ya. An’ even though I’d do anythin’ fer Mellie, I was selfish in that moment, and decided to keep ya a secret, fer just a bit longer. So I tried not ta say too much, which normally isn’t a problem fer me, but… I dunno Sweetness, you get me babblin’ like the town brook whenever I’m around ya.” He finishes with a smirk, but it doesn’t mask the guilt in his eyes at having lied to Mellie.

You give his thigh a reassuring squeeze, “I won’t sit here and say I don’t understand, considering I did something very similar.” Clyde’s eyes dart between the road and your gaze, wanting to give you his attention. “I didn’t know for sure, but I had a feeling you all were related. I hesitated though, I hesitated to tell her, because I knew she didn’t want me to meet you, but, well, like you said, it was too late,” you shrug your shoulders and offer a timid smile, “You shouldn’t have lied to your sister, but I understand why you did it. And thankfully for both our sakes, she forgave you.”

At that Clyde lets his gaze linger a moment, letting his lips match the timid smile you’re sending him, some of the guilt clearing from those golden eyes.

He returns his eyes to the road, and you let yours drop to the hand you’ve left on his broad thigh. You can’t help but admire how small and delicate you appear in contrast to him, Clyde’s size really is something to marvel at. A shiver runs down your spine and you obey it, letting your fingers drag soft lines up and down the broad expanse, enjoying the feel of the firm muscle underneath. Your eyes return to the road, watching the oncoming pavement, but your fingers continue to dance. 

Clyde can’t take it for long though, inhaling sharply he brings his prosthetic hand down decisively on your inquisitive fingers, stopping them in their tracks, pressing them into his flesh, before curling the mechanical digits around yours, pulling your hand up and away, right to his lips, placing a reverent kiss on your knuckles before croaking hoarsely, “These fingers a yours are dangerous.”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to fight the urge to play, to flirt, to push just a little, “If you think _that’s_ dangerous just you wait and see what else these fingers can do.”

Clyde growls, instinctively clutching the hand he holds captive tighter, the rumble of it shooting straight down to your core, “Watch it Sweetness, or we ain’t gonna make it to our movie.”

The warmth spreading between your legs sends a very clear message back up to your brain, you aren’t done playing. Your voice comes out husky, “Maybe I don’t want to see the movie.”

When Clyde’s eyes land on you this time, they’re molten. His voice leaves no room for brokering, “Be a good girl for me,” he nips at your delicate fingers with sharp teeth before pulling them away from his mouth, but he doesn’t release them still, keeping your hand held hostage in his lap.

Your eyebrows raise and your eyes go as wide as saucers, you can feel the gush between your legs at those stern words, playing them over and over again in your brain. You want to push further, his tone is stern but you know he wants you, you remember how he acted outside of Duck Tape on Saturday night, and the thrill running up and down your spine at the take-charge attitude Clyde seems to be exhibiting more and more of in these little outbursts is driving you wild, but you remind yourself that Clyde wants to take things slow, and you are nothing if not respectful of his wishes, so you do your best to simmer down, but not without your own retribution. you plaster the most feline grin you can muster on your face, cock an eyebrow at him and drawl, “Alright Clyde.”

He flicks his eyes to you, taking in your shit-eating smirk, answering it with a crinkled brow and thick lips pressed too tightly together, as if doing his best to hold back any further remarks.

Luckily for him, he pulls into the mall’s parking lot at that moment, coasting towards the section of the lot closest to the theater. He parks that behemoth of a car with ease, swiftly stepping out and making his way around to you, offering you a hand as you step out, seemingly still at war with what it is he does, or doesn’t, want to say.

You decide to let him stew a bit, it’s fine if he wants to take things slow, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still going to make him work. You tuck your hand into the crook of his arm and let him lead you to the theater’s doors, head held high, a bounce in your step.

This was going to be fun.

This particular theater was one of the nicer ones, it had those big leather seats with the arm rests that could be pushed all the way up. You took immediate note of that fact and didn’t give Clyde a second to consider before you’d already pushed the arm rest as far up as it would go, now nothing blocking your two seats from becoming one bench, more or less. You turned to him with an innocent grin, taking your seat and putting your drink into the holder on the arm rest that now bordered your little bench.

Clyde’s eyebrows only knitted further, but he mimicked the movement with his own drink, and took his seat, holding the bucket of popcorn in his right hand, resting on his thigh, so that it would be between you.

As the lights dimmed your innocent grin turned feline, letting yourself shuffle closer and closer to the thick thighs spread next to you, the trunk of an arm resting nearby.

By the time the trailers had ended, you leaned up to Clyde, whispering in his ear, “Why don’t I hold the popcorn for a while? We can take turns.”

Clyde looked at you, giving an innocent nod, unaware of your schemes. You plucked the bucket out of his hand, and took the opportunity to press flush up against him, resting the bucket on your own thighs now. You felt his surprise at your sudden proximity, but it didn’t take him long to react, the hand that had been holding the bucket now wrapping around you, his arm slung across your shoulders, his hand resting on your side. You curl into him, nestling closer, and let loose a content sigh.

You risk a glance up at Clyde to see if you’ve crossed into what he may deem ‘bad girl’ territory yet, but he looks calm, happy, pleased to be holding you like this. He spots you spying him and smiles, which you are quick to respond to with your own.

Your insides thrum with a need to push further, so 20 or so minutes into the movie you move again, this time letting your left hand rest on top of his thigh, letting it curl loosely around the inside. This gets a small gasp from him, and his left hand comes down as it did before, resting on top of your inquisitive hand, not yet pulling it away, but keeping tabs. Every once in a while you give a soft squeeze, enjoying the solidity beneath your fingers, and he lets it be. Even when you begin to rub small circles with your fingertips, he doesn’t lock your hand down or pull it away. After allowing your fingers to play for a few moments you hazard a glance down, immediately noticing the bulge beginning to form not far from where your fingers are dancing.

It’s about halfway through the movie when you can no longer deny the occasional pulsing coming from that lengthening bulge, and you decide to investigate. You slide your hand right out from under his, right up to that bulge, and drag a heavy palm over the length of it, feeling the undeniable proof of that thick pillar you know is hiding underneath that denim.

Clyde groans, the arm draped around you tensing, you quickly look up at his face and are met with an expression equal parts pain and pleasure. Your core roars for more, so you continue to run your hand heavily over his bulge, feeling it stiffen exponentially at the attention.

All at once, Clyde’s hand locks around your wrist, holding it in place, while his head dips down to your ear, whispering harshly, “If you keep that up, I’m not gonna be able to stop myself, and when that happens this whole theater is gonna be watchin’ us act out a very different kinda movie.” He nips your earlobe before pulling away enough to meet your eyes, but seeing his pupils blown out like that, those honey eyes practically black, tips you over the edge of caring, and you press a fevered kiss to his lips. He responds immediately, returning your fervor with hungry kisses of his own, devouring the little sighs that escape you, unable to suppress the lustful heat that has pooled in your belly. Clyde deepens the kiss, dragging his tongue across the seam of your lips, which you quickly grant entrance to, twirling your own tongue gleefully with his.

Even though he continues to hold your wrist steadfast, your fingers are free to stroke and squeeze, which is precisely what you do to the now pronounced length of him, marveling at how large he feels, trying to paint a picture for your mind with nothing but your fingers. In response, the arm that up until now was wrapped around your shoulders and draped on your side slides down to your hip, giving a squeeze, so much of your flesh trapped in that very large grip. A moan bubbles up, you do your best to keep it quiet, Clyde’s lips catching whichever notes manage to escape.

While the last act of the movie plays out on the screen in front of you, Clyde reluctantly pulls himself away from your devouring mouth, “Sweetness,” he pants, “You gotta stop,” pulling away your questing hand that has spent the entirety of your make-out session doing its best to stroke his throbbing length, “or I’m gonna do somethin’ regrettable.”

“But,” you start, eyes pleading, “I don’t want to stop. I want to feel you, Clyde. You feel incredible.”

Clyde’s expression is almost pained as he absorbs what you’ve just said, he leans in to your ear again, voice husky with lust, “Just a little longer, Sweetness. Please, this ain’t easy for me neither.”

Reluctantly you relent, nodding in ascent, dragging your hand from his prominent bulge. You settle back in to his side, he re-tucks you into it, and you spend the finale of the movie in horny silence.

As you walk back to his car hand in hand through the mostly vacant parking lot, you both do your best to act casual, chatting about the parts of the movie you’d bothered to watch, before you had found eachother’s mouths to be much more interesting. As you’ve come to expect, he approaches the passenger’s side door with you, but instead of stepping aside to let him pull it open for you, you turn and face him.

“Come on, Sweetness,” Clyde’s hoarse voice whispers, but neither of you moves, “Let me take ya home.”

“Do you have to?” the words are out of your mouth in a needy whine before you can stop them, wrapping like an invisible leash around Clyde’s throat, pulling him closer. 

He nods, but his eyes are sliding closed as he continues to draw nearer, your lips a beacon, “Yeah, or else… or else I’ll do somethin’ regrettable.”

“I wouldn’t regret it,” you retort, his lips now mere inches from your own, you angle your chin towards him, putting your hands on his sides, fisting his shirt.

“I’m not gonna screw this up… I can’t,” he rasps as your lips finally meet. He pulls you in to a deep, desire-filled kiss which you eagerly return. He’s all passionate heat, consuming you alive, and it doesn’t take long before you’re pressed up against the side of the Pontiac, his hand roaming your curves, following the round of your ribs to the dip of your waist to the jut of your hip before finally settling on the globe of your ass cheek which he seems to be so fond of, squeezing ardently. You press yourself fully into him, letting every inch of you connect, hitching up your right leg on his hip which he catches with his left hand, holding it in place. Letting yourself lean back on the Pontiac for leverage, you grind against him, searching for that heavy marble pillar you know is waiting for you, trapped in those jeans. Clyde bucks into you once, twice, each time feeling an increased solidity rubbing against you. He pulls away from your mouth gasping, eyes raking over your increasingly more disheveled form. He seems to contemplate you for a moment, or perhaps he’s just savoring the sight of you like this, so needy for him, before suddenly you’re being lifted completely off the ground, both legs hoisted around his waist as his mouth finds yours once more. He pulls you away from the car, only to open the door, you hear with a click, before you’re suddenly inside, being laid down across the bench seat. He rears up above you, turning to close the door behind him, before he descends back down on top of you, seeking entrance between your lips for his tongue.

His large palm rests delicately in the center of your chest, fingers stroking soft lines down to your breast, finding your nipple, where even behind your bra the stiff peak of it is evident. He strokes it with his finger tip before pinching it gently, teasing it, as best as he can above the layers. You squirm, wanting nothing more than to rip the dress right over your head, to bear yourself to him. He repeats the motions on your other nipple, making sure both receive their due attention, before his hand quests lower, coming to rest on the hem of your dress. Here he pauses, pulling away from your lips, bringing your attention to his eyes, “May I?” he rasps.

You nod fervently, snaking your own hands down to help him hike the hem up your hips, exposing your black lacey panties. He gasps, exhaling a groan as he studies the sight. Gently his thick fingers brush the lace, tickling your pubic bone, before he slides them down to your lips, hidden by the lace, but the heat of his touch is barely masked. You gasp and sigh, the sounds flowing out unbidden, bringing his rapt attention back to your face. He dips then, reclaiming your lips, before trailing his kisses along your jaw, down your neck, to the juncture of your shoulder, nibbling. The nip of his teeth is light at first, but as his fingers get more inquisitive, as his stroking fingers begin to push a bit more firmly, so do his teeth, enough to at least leave a mark. 

You are nothing but writhing gasps and sighs underneath him, silently begging him to let his questing fingers venture further, until finally those large fingers drag up up your lips, up up up your pubic bone, and dip down under the band of your little lace panties, until hot flesh is met with tender wetness. Your hips buck at the contact and a moan escapes you, your hands dragging up his arms to his hair, where your fingers sink in to grapple his raven locks. He is biting and sucking at your neck in earnest now as his fingers trace your petal-soft lips, following them down to your throbbing, dripping core. He traces a gentle circle around your entrance, gathering the wetness you’ve created for him on his fingertip before parting your folds and dragging it back up to your aching clit. As the pad of his finger circles the sensitive nub you absolutely keen with the feeling. Clyde pulls away from the mark he has undoubtedly left on your neck in order to watch your face, as is evidenced by the way he once again swirls his finger, your face contorting in pleasure. The next time he swirls around the nub, he doesn’t stop, hungry golden eyes drinking in every moan that pours from your mouth, the way your brow creases, the way your mouth hangs open, gasping, gasping for him.

“You’re gorgeous, Sweetness,” he rasps, eyes going glassy with lust, “Look at ya, absolutely gorgeous,” he continues to swirl and flick at your increasingly sensitive nub, but soon replaces that fingertip with his thumb, and instead you feel that finger begin to quest back down your lips, finding its way to your core, “I want to make ya come apart,” he’s babbling again, just as he did on the front porch of Duck Tape, “I want ya ta come for me, Sweetness. Will ya come for me?” That questing finger swirls around your entrance before it finally dips inside, your walls stretching to accommodate the thick digit.

“Oh Clyde,” you moan as you squirm, knowing you’re close already, trying to take in more of his finger.

“I know, Sweetness,” he groans, pumping the digit in and out of you a few times before plunging it in to the knuckle, catching the cry that tears out of you in a searing kiss. He pulls back just enough to see your face before he crooks his finger, hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

He leans down to your ear, nips your lobe and hoarsely he whispers, “Come for me,” before leaning back up to watch your face. 

A few more swipes of his thumb and you’re sent over the edge, crying out, “Oooh Clyyyyyde!” hips bucking up hard, back arched. 

He straightens out his finger releasing the pressure he’d applied to that special spot inside of you, but he doesn’t remove it right away, the circles and swipes on your clit gradually begin to slow until you’re left a shaking mess, shuddering from the tremors given by your shattering orgasm. When he finally withdraws his hand he leans back on his haunches and brings his fingers to his lips, sucking each digit clean. His deep voice rumbles right down to your core, “You taste like Heaven, Sweetness, and you look like it too.” There’s nothing but firey adoration in his eyes, and it consumes you wholly. You reach for him with trembling hands and he leans forward, letting you wrap your arms around his neck, gaining him enough leverage to pull you up into his lap, where you nestle in, resting your head on his shoulder, still shuddering from the occasional residual orgasmic tremor. 

He pets your hair, your back, and kisses your head, cooing softly, “You’re amazing, you’re beautiful, you’re wonderful.”

Your entire being is drained, wrung dry, it takes herculean strength but you manage to lift your head and meet his eyes, “Thank you Clyde, that was incredible.”

He searches your gaze with evident concern, “Are ya sure? It wasn’t too much?”

But you shake your head with as much fervor as you can muster, “No, it was perfect.”

He takes a moment to absorb what you’ve said before nodding in ascent, seeming to accept it as truth although he had been reluctant to. He guides your head back down to his shoulder where he continues to pet and caress you.

You revel in the loveliness of the moment, in the way he cares for you, and you cannot help the pang of guilt that this is twice now that he’s made you come, and twice that you haven’t returned the favor, “Please,” you speak from the spot where you’re buried into his neck, “Let me touch you, let me… let me make you feel good.” You drag a now heavy hand down his chest, but he stops it mid-journey, shaking his head softly, “Don’t you worry ‘bout me, Sweetness. This ain’t about me.”

“But,” you try to interject, but softly he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “Rest, I’ll take ya home in a bit.” You relent for the moment, letting his soft touches lull you into relaxation again, but resolve yourself to make it up to him, sooner rather than later.

You stay like that for what feels like forever, luxuriating in the feel of eachother, pressed softly and securely to his solid frame, caressed and cared for. Clyde holds you in steadfast arms, a whispered praise never far from his lips.

Eventually though, it’s time to go, the hour well past when you should have been home considering how early you have to be up in the morning, and slowly, reluctantly, you untangle. This time when Clyde drives you home, you stay pressed against his side, not yet ready to be apart from the comfort of his touch. He doesn’t seem to mind, if the occasional kiss pressed to the top of your head is any indication.

When he pulls up at your door and comes around to escort you out, it’s with an arm now wrapped tightly around your waist. On your doorstep you exchange one last kiss, loaded with promise of just how much each of you would like to do to the other. In good time.

Clyde waits for you to get inside before he turns to go, and even as he heads for the Pontiac you watch him from the window, noting how he too seems to linger before finally pulling open his door, and driving away.

That night you dream about shimmering golden eyes, and safe arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just putting this out there, I am SO eager for him to eat us out. That's it, that's all I wanted to say.


	14. Love is Like Oxygen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clyde POV! Clyde muses over the recent developments in your relationship, culminating in two more dates being planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Love is Like Oxygen" by Sweet
> 
> I have to stop getting so carried away with my descriptions... this chapter was supposed to include our date at Duck Tape lol! To make up for the lack of actual smut, I added a lot of fantasies, I hope that helps!
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments and kudos, I appreciate it immensely.

The week had swiftly become a blur, but Clyde couldn’t complain, not when that blur consisted entirely of your lips, your eyes, your body, your everything, surrounding him, invading him, submerging him.

If Tuesday morning at Sip of Sunshine had been one long make-out session, then Wednesday, Thursday and today were entire make-out festivals. Clyde could no longer seem to keep himself away from you once he’d set foot in the café. All it took was seeing that bright and shining smile you’d always been so gracious to beam at him, and he just couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t stop the need to be near you, to touch you, to taste you, to claim—no, no, you were your own woman, you were no one’s to claim, least of all Clyde’s, but that didn’t stop him from wishing you might want to be his. And he would be yours too of course, nothing would make Clyde happier than to belong to someone, to belong to you. But that was just him being sentimental; you were a strong, independent woman, a business owner, a city girl. You didn’t need a guy like Clyde, you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. He didn’t have much to offer you anyway, aside from a stiff drink, and his whole heart and soul on a silver platter of course. 

He continued to dream though, just as he’d been doing since he first laid eyes on you. Whenever sleep was far away, or bad thoughts plagued his mind, or his left hand ached even though it was long gone, he still followed that ray of sunshine to you. These days there was more of a variety to the little scenarios he would dream up, especially after how graciously you’d allowed him to pleasure you twice now. At first he hadn’t wanted to think dirty thoughts of you, it had felt wrong, he had felt creepy at best, undeserving at worst. But after Saturday night outside of Duck Tape, and then Tuesday night in the movie theater parking lot, Clyde couldn’t help himself. The image of you writhing and moaning his name, coming apart at the seams because of something _he_ did to you, was burned into his brain. When Clyde had gotten home Tuesday night, he fell asleep with his right hand draped across his face, your sweet and musky scent a gentle reminder of the incredible feeling of his fingers wrapped tightly inside your wet pulsing heat. That, compounded with all of the kindness and friendliness and interest you’d been showing him this last month, produced a heady cocktail. You were always happy to see him, always kind to him, always listened to him. Clyde had never felt so seen and important as he did with you. In his darkest moments, Clyde would let himself believe that maybe you really did care for him, could maybe someday even love him. Clyde didn’t think he’d ever be so lucky, to have you feel that way about him. But Clyde was a bit of a dreamer, he supposed. 

Those dreams, those made up scenarios, sometimes they were what kept him going. The scenarios varied, sometimes it was just the two of you alone out in the mountains, talking and laughing, enjoying eachother’s company. He’d take off his prosthetic and you’d lay a soft hand and a tender kiss on the place where his left hand used to be, and his heart would burst. Sometimes it was you and him in the trailer, but it wasn’t the trailer, not quite. The trailer was prettier, more homely, the bed he had laid you atop was large and inviting. As inviting as you looked to him, in that moment, with your eyes lidded and your legs fallen open and your arms spread wide, beckoning him to you, welcoming him. Now that was a sight for sore eyes. He would lower himself down on to you, and you’d wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, a reassuring embrace. He’d line his throbbing cock up with your saturated entrance, rubbing the head of his dick in your juices, getting it slicked up for you, not wanting to hurt you when he entered you. You’d be whimpering and pleading with him to take you, to fill you up nice and full, and he would kiss your face, your cheeks, your nose, before feeling the tip catch on your entrance and pushing in. He’d go slow at first, to let you adjust, he knows he’s got a lot going on down there and he doesn’t want to hurt you. But eventually you would stretch, your delicious heat would mold to him, and he’d give you everything he had, he’d pump into you with all of his strength, until he made you scream for him. He wanted you to know blinding pleasure, he wanted to give you every ounce you deserved.

Then sometimes it was, well, it was his imagination running away with him. Sometimes it was a barbecue at Jimmy’s new place, the whole family would be there, he’d spot you helping Silvie bring trays of food out onto the deck and you’d give him a little wave as you bustled past. But before he’d be able to respond to you, a beautiful little girl would be launching full force into his legs, a head full of raven hair just like her daddy’s being the only thing visible as she buries her face into his thighs and her sweet little voice chirps out the one term of endearment he never thought he’d be called. That one had made him cry.

But all the little dream scenarios in the world didn’t compare to spending time with you. When he walked into Sip of Sunshine on Wednesday, the prior night’s events fresh in his mind, you came out to greet him as you always did. Clyde didn’t know what came over him, after drinking in the sight of you, but before he knew what he was doing he’d scooped you up with ease and plopped you down on the countertop. You squealed and giggled, and it was the cutest thing he’d ever heard, he couldn’t tug the smile off of his lips even as he pressed into you, kissing you, tasting you. You had wrapped your arms around his neck, a hand tangling into his hair, and he groaned, tightening his own embrace on you in return. Then you wrapped your legs around his waist and Clyde had to remind himself to breathe. He felt almost feral, and he sounded like it too, with that growl that ripped out of him at the feeling of your hot core pressing into his abdomen, and he just couldn’t stop himself from parting your lips with his tongue, letting it dance with yours, licking and tasting. It was a wonder you didn’t stop him, didn’t push him away. He counted his blessings and enjoyed the moment while it lasted, that is, until a customer came in. Luckily it was a customer you were friendly with, if the knowing looks you exchanged were any indication as Clyde pulled away, helping you down off of the counter. Clyde didn’t pull that particular stunt again, not yet at least.

But that didn’t stop him from doing other things, Clyde was incorrigible at this point. All he needed to see was that bright smile of yours and he was done for, all resolve gone, all thoughts of showing restraint disappeared. On Thursday, Clyde was so wrapped up in the feeling of you reaching up to meet his lips, the way your arms wrapped around behind his neck to anchor him down to you, the way your body stretched taut, the way your soft breasts pressed themselves against his solid chest, the way your stomach rubbed against his swiftly filling cock, that he couldn’t bring himself to let you go. You eventually began to beg him to let you get him his breakfast, giggling all the while, especially when he’d begin to loosen his grip on you only to change his mind, pulling you back in with a decisive grunt. This went on several times before he finally relented, allowing you to slip away only for a moment, just to get his plate of food, before he was taking it out of your hands, putting it down on the table, and pulling you back into his warm embrace.

This morning he asked you to come visit him at Duck Tape tonight, or rather mumbled it in between kisses. He had spoken to Mellie and Jimmy the prior night who had encouraged him to invite you to their weekly catch-up. In fact, all three Logan siblings agreed to bring their dates, deciding to turn this particular week’s meet-up into a triple-date of sorts. Privately, Mellie expressed to him once more how important it was to her that her friendship with you stay intact, so if Clyde was going to pursue this, Mellie wanted all of them to be involved with eachother, to become close together. One big happy family, just like the Logan siblings had always wanted. Just like that little scenario he had dreamed up the other night, the one that had brought tears to his eyes. Clyde of course agreed to Mellie’s wishes, although he had left out telling her about the dream.

And just as he had mumbled his invitation in between kisses, you mumbled your answer, which was a resounding yes. Mellie would pick you up, just like she does on your hangout nights, so you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with getting lost. 

“But unlike last week,” he pulls away from those tempting lips just long enough to get the sentence out, “if yer willin’ to stay ‘til closin’, I’ll drive ya home.” 

You bite your lip and nod, trying not to give away just how much the thought excites you, “I’d like that, Clyde.”

Clyde’s lips curl into a smile at that, searching your eyes for reassurance, “I know it’ll be a late night for ya, since you’ve gotta be up early for work the next day,” but if there’s even a chance, a possibility of spending some time alone with you, well, he knows he’s being selfish, but he can’t stop himself from asking, “but I thought it might be nice to spend a lil’ time alone together.” 

Most surprisingly of all, you agree to that too, nodding your ascent as you try to suppress an eager grin, and Clyde can’t help the way his arms wrap even more tightly around you at that, hoping maybe pressing you up against him will keep his heart from bursting out of his chest.

“Give Mellie a call when ya get off work,” he says as he loosens his grip on you, just enough to look you in the eyes once more, “usually her n’ Jimmy show up ‘round 7, but she’s gonna need time to get ya first. Knowin’ the way Mellie drives though, she could get ya at 6:55 and you’d still be on time.”

You both chuckle at that, his sister’s need for speed far from being a secret. You begin to try and coax him into letting you go, pulling away gently, “Let me just grab your breakfast before it gets cold,” you weakly plead, and Clyde knows your intentions are exactly as you say, but he can’t help the twinge of fear that eats at the back of his mind, the one that whispers you don’t want him touching you, and so he’s reluctant to let you go, worried that this might be the last time he gets to hold you like this, fearful of the loss. He wrestles it though, swallows it down, eases his arms away from you, reminds himself that if you want to go, you have every right, it doesn’t matter how he feels. You disappear into the kitchen, and Clyde waits patiently, dutifully, stationed behind your seat, reminding himself to breathe, as he waits with hope for your return.

You emerge with a sheepish grin, a plate overflowing with food prepared just for him balanced in your delicate hands, as you make your way back to him. You giggle, and at first he hasn’t the faintest idea why, although he chuckles back all the same, until the dawning of realization hits him, he feels it, he’s grinning like a fool, just for you, all for you. You place the plate down in front of his place at the table and delicately settle into the chair he guards for you, the chair he slides in with utmost care, letting his fingers brush your shoulders as he curls his hand around the top of the chair-back. You gaze up at him through your lashes, just like you always do, and just like every other time he attempts to compose himself, not show you how much it affects him, how much that heavy gaze of yours sets him on fire. Once you’re comfortably situated and he has taken his place, he makes sure to pull his chair as close to the table as it’ll go, until he feels the insides of his thighs brush against the outsides of your knees, and he settles in there, settles in to the contact, to the feeling of enveloping you. 

Tuesday night, after he’d taken you home, once he’d settled himself in bed, he’d imagined your legs nestled together like this, except when he imagined it, it was the outsides of his thighs brushing the insides of yours as he hovered over you. When he imagined it, you were gasping and groaning just as you’d been in the Pontiac, except it wasn’t his hand pulling those sounds out of you. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing heavily as he turns to look out the window for a moment, trying not to think about what it was he _was_ doing to bring you that pleasure. He can’t think about it, not right now at least, not when you made him swell with arousal just by existing.

“Sweetheart,” you giggle, quickly pulling his attention back to you, wrestling with the way his heart clenched at the endearment. 

“Yea, darlin’?” he croaks, lungs too constricted, you make it too hard to breathe right.

Your eyes scan his face, taking in what he undoubtedly knows is an obvious blush, biting your lip and gesturing to his plate in response, “It’s gonna get cold if you don’t start eating, silly.”

He does, of course. Knows, that is. He knows you worked hard on this meal for him and he’s so grateful, so overflowing with gratitude for it. He’s going to devour it, just like he always does, heck, he’d lick the plate if he could get away with it. But it’s hard to pull his attention from you, he doesn’t want to miss a moment of this. Even if it’s so mundane, so simple, just the two of you sitting at a little table swapping secrets, he doesn’t want to waste a second of it. It might be simple, but it’s the happiest he’s been in a long time. He doesn’t care if that makes him “simple-minded”, like some folks around here thought he was. If enjoying this kind of time with you made him simple-minded, then he supposed he must be. That was fine. You didn’t seem to think he was simple-minded, in fact, you often made him feel just the opposite, with the way you fussed over him when he shared something he’d learned or gave his opinion on something. You made him feel like the smartest, luckiest man in all of West Virginia, maybe the world, Logan family curse be damned.

“I finished it so quickly,” you shook your head, “and now I have nothing to read. What a bummer!” You had been telling him about the latest book on your reading list, and even though it wasn’t a particular genre he fancied, he could listen to you tell stories all day. “I’m going to have to take a trip to Taylor’s this weekend,” you continue, gazing out the window passively before suddenly animating, whipping your head to face him, “Are you busy on Sunday?”

Clyde nearly chokes, but does his best to maintain his composure, “This Sunday? No, I’m not doin’ anythin’. Why do ya ask?” He attempts to play it cool, but his heart is now thudding a building rhythm in his chest, fluttering at the possibility of what you may ask.

You smile broadly, “We should go to Taylor’s together!”

Clyde is half afraid to believe his own ears. Did you just ask him to spend time with you? “Are ya sure?” he asks breathlessly, before catching just how desperate he sounded, “Are ya sure ya want me taggin’ along, I mean. I know pickin’ a new book is special n’ all.” He cringed at his flimsy cover up, but if you noticed you thankfully didn’t acknowledge it, instead giving him an incredulous look, “Of course I’d want you there, why wouldn’t I? You’re a fellow book lover, after all. I know you get it.”

Why wouldn’t you? Clyde could think of a few reasons, starting with the hand he couldn’t count those reasons on, but he tucked that down deep. You wanted to spend time with him, that was all Clyde needed to know. That was enough, more than enough, more than he deserved. He nods, waiting for his mouth to catch up with his brain after the shock of your proposition short circuited it’s wiring, “Well if it’s alright with you, then yes, I’d love to go to Taylor’s with ya on Sunday. I can pick ya up, if ya like. Just tell me what time ya wanna go.”

You stare at him for a moment, your gaze piercing through his soul, while a feline grin curls up the corners of your lips, “Actually,” you begin, “I think I just had an idea. Why don’t you come over for breakfast? Then we can go to Taylor’s afterward.”

Clyde doesn’t know if his heart can take it, if it can withstand what you’ve just propositioned. You want him to come to your house, where you’re going to cook him breakfast in your kitchen. The flutter of a former dream scenario flits by in his mind, not a raunchy one, no, this one had been sweetly domestic actually. He’d imagined the two of you in the breakfast nook of the trailer-not-trailer, the dream version of the trailer, empty plates of a completed breakfast on the table, the two of you nestled together on the bench, your body fitted into the crook of his arm, both of you with your noses in books. It was far from being the wildest dream scenario he’d had, and yet it twisted his insides all the same. Clyde didn’t want for much in this life, but to have that sort of companionship with someone was more than he could ever ask for. And here you were, practically handing him that dream on a silver platter.

He‘s gaping at you, he knows it, quickly picks his jaw up off of the floor and scrambles to answer, nodding a bit more frantically than intended, “That sounds wonderful, Sweetness.”

“Great!” you clap, a great big smile on your face, “Come over around 10? I know Saturday must be a late night for you.”

He shrugs, “I’m used to it by now, you’d be surprised what the body’ll adjust to.”

But you shake your head, “Well it’s your day off just as much as it is mine, I’m not about to rob you of sleep. Although I _will_ make it worth your while,” you finish with a wiggle of your eyebrows.

Clyde wants to think about that, he really does, wants to imagine just how wonderful a Sunday spent with you is going to be, but he really doesn’t want to have to try and hide his erection, god forbid a customer come in, and so he smiles and nods and proceeds to stuff his face, doing his best to focus on anything else but the image of the two of you curled up together in his breakfast nook.

~.~.~.~.~

Mellie pulls up outside at around 6:00pm. You two had spoken earlier and she insisted she come over early to do your hair, “My brother’s never seen ya after I’ve gotten done with ya, I want to see his face when he gets a load of ya,” she giggled, and you couldn’t help but agree, not hiding the fact that you, too, would love to see his reaction. You certainly enjoyed his reactions thus far to your out-of-work looks. Tonight would certainly not be an exception, you headed for the front door in tight black jeans and a blue sequin tank top, pulling it open to let Mellie in.

She gives you a once over and grins, “Lookin’ gorgeous as ever, darlin’. Does my brother even know what to say when he sees you dressed like this or does he jus’ gawk?”

You giggle, remembering his reaction the first time you walked into Duck Tape, “Mostly gawk,” you nod, “Although he does offer compliments as well.”

Mellie shakes her head affectionately, “I still can’t believe it. Clyde, my Clyde, quiet, shy, sweet Clyde, is head over heels for my best friend.”

“I don’t know about head over heels,” you turn away shyly, feeling your face heat up, but Mellie makes a dismissive sound, “Girl, you don’t have a clue then. I know my brother, he’s a mess over you, and tonight I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ him in action with ya. All I’ve had to go off of so far is Jimmy, an’ he likes to exaggerate.”

Together you make your way to the bathroom, where you’ve already got everything set up for Mellie, who immediately begins to work her Mellie-Magic on your head. It isn’t long before you’re staring back at a much more glamourous version of yourself than was previously present in the mirror. 

“There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to ask ya,” Mellie says in between comb strokes, “What do you guys talk about?”

You must look confused, because Mellie is quick to clarify, “I just mean, I know my brother’s interests, but we’ve never really spoken much about ‘em since I don’t really share ‘em. What do you guys talk about? Do you ever bring up your pasts or anything?”

“We talk about a little bit of everything,” you shrug, “He’s told me some stories about his past, I’ve told him some of mine.” At this Mellie seems to go still, but you press on, not thinking much of it, “We also talk about our interests though, since we share quite a few, movies and books, that sort of thing. We always seem to have something to say, and even when we don’t, it isn’t uncomfortable. He’s one of the only people I’ve ever met that I can truly share a comfortable silence with.”

“What has he told you about his past?” Mellie asks calmly, but her eyes are sharp, you know that look from her.

“Nothing serious, nothing about you,” you’re quick to say, wondering if maybe there’s some sort of border she doesn’t want crossed when it comes to her past through Clyde’s eyes, “Just silly stories, like about going to concerts and stuff.”

Mellie seems to relax at this, much to your relief. You make a mental note to ask Clyde never to tell you anything about Mellie’s past, after how uncomfortable the mere thought just made her.

She finishes up her work, and as usual it is stunning. You’re already grinning just imagining what Clyde is going to think when he sees you. The two of you clean up the bathroom quickly and make your way to her car, you’ve got about 15 minutes if you want to be there for 7, but you know that won’t be a problem with Mellie behind the wheel.

On the way over she tells you what the plan is tonight, about how Jimmy is bringing Silvie and that her flame, Joe Bang, will be there, “It’s like a triple date hangout,” she grins.

Your stomach flutters at the realization that you’re being paired as a couple with Clyde, giddy for the opportunity, “Sounds like we’re going to have a fun night,” you concede, meeting Mellie’s grin.

13 minutes later Mellie is pulling into the parking lot of Duck Tape, but it’s so crowded that it actually takes her a few minutes just to find a good spot.

“Must be somethin’ good on, if this many people’re here,” she grouses as she finally pulls in, putting the car into park and stepping out. 

“Hopefully Clyde isn’t too busy to spend a little time with us,” you ponder.

“With you here? I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Clyde might shut the whole place down on account of you,” Mellie laughs. 

As much as you would never want him to do such a thing, you can’t help but feel warm at the thought. That warmth follows you right through the front door of Duck Tape.


	15. Sweet Kiwi, Your Juice is Dripping Down My Chin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clyde worships Sweetness with those sinful lips, and that clever tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is Kiwi by Maroon 5
> 
> I have never made the timeline of this story explicitly known, but I do drop hints here and there. Have you caught on? I will say, a point I make in this chapter does screw with that timeline a bit, so let’s just say that during the events of Logan Lucky, the FBI’s investigation went on for 3 months instead of 6.
> 
> Thank you everyone for encouraging me when I feel like I absolutely cannot pull this off, truly, you have no idea how much the comments mean to me, both on here and on Tumblr (Contesa-lui-Alucard). I read your words of praise and I'm given that second wind I needed. It was after some particularly kind words from some of you that I wrote the 2nd half of this chapter. I was so inspired by all of you that in about 1.5 hours I just lost myself in my brain, imagined the situation I wanted to play out, and did not take my fingers off of the keyboard until it was complete. That was all thanks to YOU. Thank you.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

Mellie was right, something _was_ on tonight, if the blast of cheers that smacked you straight in the face as you opened the door to Duck Tape were any indication. It certainly hadn’t been this loud last weekend, although a stampede of cows could’ve charged right through Duck Tape’s parking lot for all you and Clyde had been aware, being much too occupied with eachother to notice much of anything else.

Speaking of Clyde, your eyes quickly scan the bar for your mountain man, which is much easier said than done tonight considering how thickly knit together all of the people crowding around it are. It doesn’t take long though to pick out the broad back of the man in question, maroon shirt pulled taught across his shoulder blades as he reaches up to collect several shot glasses with one hand. Mellie puts a hand on your shoulder, pulling your attention away from Clyde for a moment to crook her eyebrow with a knowing look, and then redirect your line of sight. You bite your lip at being caught and follow her line of sight. On the other side of the bar you spot Jimmy and Sylvie flagging you both down, already with drinks in hand. Mellie leads you through the throng, weaving like a pro, the same way she does at the hoppin’ spots you visit on weekends together, and it isn’t long before you’re approaching Jimmy and Sylvie, who jump off of their stools to greet you both with hugs.

“Hey Mellie, (Y/N),” Jimmy nods at each of you, “How ya’ll doin’ tonight?”

Mellie casts a look of mild disgust in the direction of one of the many televisions hanging from the walls, “What’s on tonight?” she asks as she attempts to peer over heads to get a better look.

“No Mercy,” Jimmy responds with a smirk, “Roman Reigns is doin’ a real number on John Cena right ‘bout now and the crowd’s goin’ nuts over it.”

Mellie rolls her eyes accompanied by a noise of disgust, Sylvie just chuckles, and Jimmy shrugs, “What? I don’ get ta pick what gets put on, he does.” And with that Jimmy gestures to Clyde, turning everyone’s attention to him. 

Clyde watches and waits, bottle still in his hand at his side, as the customers he had been preparing those shots for offer a rowdy toast with them before downing them. Once all of the little glasses have been plunked down once more onto the counter, Clyde puts the bottle of liquor back on its shelf and begins collecting them. You can’t help but notice how five of them disappear into his large hand, whereas you’d be lucky if you could palm two. A shiver runs down your spine as your mind flashes back to just what that beefy hand can do, how it can make you feel, the memory forcing you to take a deep breath. 

After disposing of the glasses Clyde finally turns to face you all, golden eyes going wide at the sight of you. Your breath hitches at the way his previously somber face lights up, lips curling into a tight lipped smile. He lumbers over to your section of the bar, plants his hands down on the counter and offers a greeting to both you and Mellie, “Evenin’ ladies,” but his eyes never leave you.

“Hey Clyde,” Mellie responds dismissively with an affectionate roll of her eyes, as she notes that her brother’s attention is far from being on her at the moment. 

“Good evening, Clyde,” you smile brightly, curling your fingers around the edge of the bar so you can steady yourself as you lean in, “How’s it going tonight?”

Clyde’s large shoulder rolls in a shrug, “Been goin’ alright,” he seems to hesitate for a moment, eyes catching on Jimmy, Mellie, both of which have turned away from him but who are undoubtedly listening, before shrugging once more and shaking his head, “It’s alright.”

You lean in a little closer, knowing a private conversation isn’t going to happen under these circumstances but wanting to try anyway. Not that you’re swapping secrets, per say, but Clyde is undoubtedly bashful, especially if he has an audience, “It’s pretty busy in here tonight, huh?”

Clyde nods, jerking his head towards one of the television screens, “Wrestlin’ always draws a crowd,” he opens his mouth to say more but a shout of, “Hey, Clyde!” comes from the opposite end of the bar, a man grinning and shaking an empty pint glass in the air. Clyde acknowledges the man before turning back to you with a remorseful smile, “Good for business, bad for havin’ a conversation.”

You shoo him away with a wink, “Go work your magic, Mister Bartender.”

Clyde gives you a bashful smile and a nod before turning away to go give the customer his refill.

“Go work your magic, Mister Bartender,” Jimmy mimics in a high-pitched voice, you turn to look at him just in time to watch him dramatically flutter his eyelashes.

Mellie and Sylvie both giggle, Mellie leveling you with that knowing look again. You roll your eyes but you can’t hide the grin that wants to split across your face, you bite your lip in an attempt to suppress it.

Mellie turns to Jimmy, still smirking, “I take it back, Jimmy. I thought you were exaggeratin’, but I jus’ saw it wit’ my own two eyes.”

“I told ya!” Jimmy pipes up, “You had every reason ta’ trust me!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Mellie rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave her lips, “But this time ya’ weren’t wrong.”

Jimmy smiles triumphantly, taking a swig of his beer before slamming it down on the counter and crossing his arms, “That’s all I needed ta’ hear.”  
Sylvie rolls her eyes affectionately at Jimmy before turning to Mellie, “Why’d ya have to give it to him?”

Mellie puts her hands up defensively, giving a shrug, “I had to, he earned it this time.”

All of you laugh, but the subject certainly leaves you a bit embarrassed, “Are we really that obvious?” You ask nervously.

Jimmy and Mellie only laugh harder at that. Mellie is the first to calm down enough to speak, “If ya knew our brother, you’d see it the way we do. Jimmy, when’s the last time ya even saw Clyde smile? Not countin’ since he met (Y/N).”  
Jimmy looses a breath, looking up at the ceiling as he thinks, “Shit, not since,” he pauses, eyes cast down for a moment, “well, it’s been a few months, that’s for sure.” 

Mellie watches Jimmy closely, but when she catches you looking at her she immediately smiles, “That’s why it’s so obvious to us. Our brother ain’t the type to give smiles so freely. Not the way he does wit’ you.”

You don’t let the odd exchange go unnoticed, but you don’t really know what to think of it. The only thing that comes to mind is that maybe Clyde has an ex they don’t want to bring up. That’s alright though, people have ex’s, you wouldn’t get all bent out of shape just at the mention of one. You let it go, but you do keep the information tucked away for safe keeping, just in case.

The crowd erupts into another cheer, pulling everyone’s attention back to the bar. Clyde is slowly but surely making his way back down the bar to your section, taking drink orders as he goes. Watching him work is absolutely mesmerizing, he holds such control over his body, his actions. You notice that even though he’s wearing the other arm tonight, the gray one, he’s still mainly relying on his right arm to get the job done. You wonder how long it took him to be able to use it as skillfully as this, how much hard work he put into it. Knowing Clyde, you doubt he had wasted much time mastering his new lot in life.

You want to ask him about it, you can’t deny that your curiosity gets the better of you sometimes. You often wonder how he feels about it, remembering his speech once upon a time about feeling like an outcast due to it. Honestly, most of all, you want him to know that you like him exactly as he is, that’s what you would love to tell him before anything else. But it doesn’t feel right to bring any of it up just yet, so you leave it be for now.

Clyde finally finds his way back to you, his smile widening as your eyes meet, “I’m so sorry Sweetness,” he starts, leaning forward on the counter, shaking his head a little as he speaks, “I never took yer order.”

You giggle, “It’s alright Clyde, I may have noticed that you’ve got a bit going on.”

Clyde tucks his chin, trying to hide the chuckle that escapes him, “I’m not about to let somethin’ like this,” he gestures to the room, “make me look bad in front of ya. What’ll ya like, Sweetness?”

You go thoughtful for a moment, but it’s just for show, you know exactly what you’re going to say already, “Surprise me again?”  
Clyde full on grins, nodding, “Alright, I can do that,” he finally drags his eyes away from you for a moment to acknowledge Mellie, “What ‘bout you, Mel? What can I get ya?”

Mellie pretends like she almost hadn’t heard him for a moment, as if she were listening to anything else, “The usual’s fine,” she shrugs, returning her attention to Sylvie.

Clyde gets to work and you watch with rapt attention, not missing the way he’s now being a bit extra showy, spinning bottles, catching ice cubes behind his back. Every time he does something particularly impressive you give him a little applause, which effectively turns his face bright red, much to your enjoyment. When he’s finished he slides a tall stemmed, wide mouthed glass towards you, the contents are bright yellow and it’s been garnished with a lemon wedge. You gasp at the sight, excitedly leaning forward to take first a whiff, and then a sip. It’s delicious, a bit bitter and sharp, but with an effervescence.

You take another sip and moan, letting your eyes slip closed, “Mmm Clyde, this is soooo good!”

You reopen your eyes just in time to catch the joy and relief written across his face, “I’m glad ya like it,” he drawls softly.

“What’s it called?” you inquire, taking another sip.

Clyde cracks a bit of a smile, “Here Comes the Sun, like The Beatles song.”

Your eyes light up at the reveal, “Really? I love The Beatles!”

“I hoped ya might,” Clyde shrugs bashfully, eyes falling to the floor for a moment before finding yours once more, “I’ve been lookin’ for somethin’ new to try makin’ for ya. This seemed fittin’.”

His confession warms your insides, you don’t hesitate to reach out and lay your hand gently on top of his, “You’re too good to me, Clyde. I appreciate it.”

Clyde’s hand is practically vibrating underneath your gentle weight, as if he’s afraid to flip it over and take yours. He presses his lips together tightly but a smile curls there nonetheless, his eyes avoiding yours for a moment before lifting to meet your gaze again, his voice cracks, “You’re worth it, Sweetness.”

You give his hand a squeeze, so touched by his sentiment, but before you can do anything further Clyde is called away again. Reluctantly he pulls his hand from beneath yours, but not before flipping it palm up and giving yours a soft squeeze. You can’t help but notice how clammy his palm is.  
Unfortunately, the night proceeds in much the same manner, with most of the hanging out being done between you, Mellie, Jimmy and Sylvie while Clyde tends to his packed bar. Not to say you don’t appreciate spending time with the other Logan siblings and their significant others (Joe Bang, Mellie’s on-again-off-again as she had described it, sauntered in about an hour after you had arrived) but it was a shame that Clyde couldn’t be more of a part of it. You could tell he minded too, if the forlorn looks he occasionally cast at the lot of you were any indication. At around midnight the wrestling pay-per-view finally ended, which dispersed most of the crowd, much to your delight. Clyde looked wiped out, face a bit red, some of his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’s leaning over your section of the bar again, leaning a little farther than before, as if he’s having a harder time holding himself up after all of the work he just put in. 

At around 1 in the morning Jimmy, Sylvie, Mellie and Joe Bang begin to bid their goodbye’s, the Logan siblings giving you loaded glances and winks as they cast their final glances at you. You do your best to return the farewells without betraying just how eager you are for their inferences to be true.

The bar is mostly empty at this point, save for a few lingering regulars, but all the same Clyde begins to go through the motions of cleaning up for the night, wiping the bar top, loading dirty glasses into the dishwasher racks.

“Would you like some help?” you offer as Clyde emerges from the kitchen after just having dropped off his second dishwasher rack full of glasses.

Clyde’s returned look is nearly offended, “Naw Sweetness, you jus’ relax, I’ll be done soon.”

You shrug, “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping.”  
Clyde comes to stand in front of you once more, planting his palms on the counter, leaning in towards you, expression pained, “Sweetness, you work hard ‘nough as it is, this is yer night off, enjoy it.”

Your heart melts at the sentiment, “Thank you Clyde, you’re too good to me.”

“Anythin’ for you, Sweetness. Anythin’,” Clyde drawls, honey eyes dancing, hand stretching out to cover and clasp yours, for just a moment, just a squeeze, before he’s back to bustling behind the bar.

At around 2 in the morning he closes up, the regulars shuffling out first before Clyde escorts you to the door, “I’ll be out in a sec, Sweetness. Just gotta shut off the lights. Don’t want ya getting’ spooked,” he smirks, and can’t help but chuckle, “With you by my side I doubt I’d get spooked, Clyde.” But Clyde’s smirk merely widens, “I dunno Sweetness, I been known to like jumpin’ out at people.” Before you can inquire further about that odd little revelation though, Clyde disappears back into the bar, leaving you on the patio to your thoughts.

It isn’t long before Clyde emerges from the dark, still smiling softly at you, “Come on Sweetness, my car’s right over here.” Just like he did on your prior date, Clyde escorts you to his car on his arm, and opens the door for you to settle inside. The ride is short, spent mostly chatting about innocuous topics, like the movie Clyde caught on television the other day. It isn’t long before he’s pulling up to your front door. He comes around to open the door for you, and you take the hand he offers to pull you out, letting him lead you to your front door. You’ve just about hit your boiling point, you can’t take it any longer, the glances and the cut off conversations and the gentle and brief touches. Clyde stands in front of you, hands resting carefully on your hips, you imagine he’s waiting for nothing more than a chaste goodnight kiss, but you’re far from wanting chaste right now. You reach up, gripping Clyde’s shirt in your fists, and pull him down until his lips crash against yours. You pillage his mouth, letting your tongue dip between his lips, tangling with his, tasting him. Clyde only hesitates a moment before the grip on your hips is pulling you in, pulling you flush against him, his tongue reciprocating the dance. 

You pull away for a moment, gasping, at a complete loss, “Come in for a moment?” Your words come out breathy, lack of oxygen evident, but kissing is much more important than breathing, especially when the lips look and feel like his.

Clyde hesitates for a moment, but only a moment, before he nods, pulling you up to plunder your lips once more. You pull away giggling, rifling around for your keys, but Clyde is undeterred, instead letting his lips travel to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. It takes more effort than normal to get the door open, but you manage, and you and Clyde tumble inside. You pull him over to your couch, where Clyde is quick to lay you down, crawling over you, holding himself above you so as to not lean the brunt of his weight on you. How silly of him, to think you don’t want him absolutely crushing you, so you wrap your arms behind his neck and give him a good yank, pulling his chest flush with yours. Clyde gets the idea, settling down on top of you, but angling to the side. At first you aren’t sure why, that is, until you feel his questing hand begin to travel down your chest, circling and pinching an incredibly erect nipple, eliciting a gasp from you, before it trails down further, along your stomach, until it stops at the waistband of your jeans.

Clyde stops, catching your eyes, fingertips dancing along the edge of the denim, “May I?” his voice comes out in a deep rasp.

You nod, “Please,” you plead, pulling one of the hands anchored around his neck to instead graze his cheek, stroking his cheekbone gently.

With quick precision Clyde undoes the button and fly of your jeans, then pushes his large hand underneath the band of your panties, seeking out your warmth. You’re hot and slick, undoubtedly slick, dripping with the anticipation of what those fingers can do. His index finger follows the part of your lips, seeking out your entrance, swirling around it, letting just the tip dip in, gathering wetness, before he drags it back up to your desperate clit. He swirls his thick digit a few times, causing your hips to rise up off the couch and meet him, your head falling back and eyes shutting tight. 

But it isn’t enough, not for Clyde at least, who removes his hand much to your chagrin. But it doesn’t last long, because before you realize what’s happening Clyde is sitting up on his knees, gripping your pants and panties, about to tug, but not before making eye contact with you once more. You must nod, or say something, or blink an appropriate amount of times, you aren’t sure what it is you do to let him know it’s okay, but you certainly do something, because in the next moment Clyde is swiftly pulling your clothing from your body, pants and panties discarded to the floor. Clyde shuffles backwards, as far back as the arm of the couch will allow him to go, and leans forward, parting your thighs with one beefy palm and one mechanical hand, before leaning in, settling down, putting your legs over his shoulders. He leans in until his face is level with your radiating core, seeming to just admire it for a moment before running his hot, wet tongue up the length of your slit. Your entire body writhes at the contact, but his hands anchor you firmly to the couch. He does it again, that hot tongue traveling from your entrance to your clit, giving the throbbing little nub a swirl. You whine, high and loud, and watch Clyde’s eyes slip closed at the sound, “You taste like heaven,” he mumbles, low and rough, “You’re so beautiful Sweetness.”

You are at a loss for words, acknowledging his affection with a moan, your hand skimming down your body to rest in the nest of his hair, letting your fingers tangle in his soft raven locks. Clyde continues to lick broad stripes up the length of your pussy, finishing with a swirl around your clit, until you can’t stop the compulsion to jerk your hips rhythmically towards his face. His left forearm comes up higher, bracketing across your stomach, and his right hand pulls back, disappearing to where you cannot see, until suddenly a single thick digit is pushing inside of your opening. There is no resistance, he slides in easily, gliding on the juices you’ve made for him. He continues to swirl his tongue around your clit as he works his finger in and out of you, the feeling has you producing a symphony for him, creating sounds you’d never heard yourself make before. 

It isn’t long before a second thick finger is joining the first, the stretch is absolutely delicious, you keen and whine. You feel your orgasm building, you feel the telltale tightness in your tummy, you can barely keep your eyes open anymore as you ride the pleasure he elicits in you. Then those two thick fingers crook in a come-hither motion, pressing into a spot inside of you that makes you absolutely sing. You cry out, legs tightening around Clyde’s head, pressing into his ears, grip tightening on his hair. Clyde groans deeply, you feel the vibration inside of you, his tongue works quicker, swirling faster and harder against your aching clitoris. His fingers continue to curl and press and press and drag and… your thighs clench harshly around Clyde’s head, your back arching up off the couch, the fingers twinned in his hair pulling roughly, as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out his name, entire body quaking, clenching tightly around him. Clyde gives one last deep groan before pulling his mouth away, angling his head to meet your eyes. Your slick glistens on his ebony facial hair as he smiles up at you, a look of satisfied pride on his face.

“Clyde,” you barely gasp out, “That was… that was incredible,” you manage before you go boneless, slumping back against the couch. 

You hear him mumble with satisfaction, “Anythin’ for you, Sweetness,” as his fingers withdraw from inside of your hot wet channel. You can hear him sucking on them before they come up to draw lazy circles on the tops of your thighs, your stomach, until finally he begins to disentangle himself from you, sitting up. He leans over you, taking in the sight of you absolutely sated, and gently lifts you from your prone position on the couch, pulling you into him, laying back until you’re lying on top of his chest. You stay like that for a while, just enjoying his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the beating of his heart, until your body stop quaking with aftershocks, until your eyes are nearly closed from the satisfied exhaustion. 

When Clyde begins to stir you beg him not to leave, “Please Clyde, just stay here, just stay right like this.”

He looks at you, takes all of you in, eyes hungry and desperate and craving, but he simply shakes his head, cradling your face in one large palm, quirking your chin to look up at him, “Soon, Sweetness. One night soon, I’ll stay.”

You feel like you might cry, you’re so utterly content in his arms, this is how things are meant to be. But Clyde insists, slowly extricating himself from you, before picking you up bridal style and cradling you, “Where’s your bedroom, Sweetness?” he croons, and silently you point. Clyde carries you down the hall, like a groom bringing home his bride for their first night as a betrothed couple, and gently deposits you onto your bed, pulling the covers up over you.

“Goodnight, Sweetness,” Clyde croons, leaning down to give you one last kiss full of heat and passion, plush lips massaging yours, before pulling away and leaving the room.

You hear the front door quietly close and you drift off to sleep not long after, head full of your mountain man.


	16. We're on Our Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Clyde inevitably strolled in at 10:00 am the café smelled overwhelmingly of lemons, the zesty aroma immediately filling his senses. Clyde let the door swing shut behind him and breathed in deep, “Sweetness,” he drawled, finding your eyes behind the counter, “What’ve ya been up to today?”  
> You felt your face heat up and you smirked, coming out from behind the counter and meeting him toe to toe, answering with a shrug, “I haven’t made you a proper pastry in a while, thought you might be in the mood for one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Two of Us" by The Beatles
> 
> FYI, don't read the end notes until you finish the chapter. I don't want to spoil anything!
> 
> I'm back, baby! Thank you all for your patience and understanding over my lack of new chapter last weekend. So to show my appreciation, I decided to make you all cry lol! Happy tears, I hope. Tears at all, I hope even more, if I did my job right.

It’s a good thing your alarm is programmed to go off every day unless otherwise set, because once Clyde was through with you the previous night, once he tucked you in and kissed you goodnight, you didn’t stir until that very alarm was blaring 5:00 am, forcing you to wake up. Clyde didn’t just give you an earth-shattering orgasm, he’d sucked the energy right out of your body. Your morning routine was spent with what could only be called a dopey smile plastered on your face, which did make things like brushing your teeth and putting on your makeup a bit more difficult than usual, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. In this case, that greater good was Clyde’s clever tongue coaxing mind numbing pleasure from your clit, and Clyde’s thick, long fingers stimulating your g-spot until any energy your body possessed leaked like a river out of your core only to be lapped up and drank down by him.

Saturdays were always a bit slower at Sip of Sunshine, so you took the opportunity to whip up a little something special for Clyde. You had been dutifully feeding him considerably less pastries lately in an effort to take better care of your man (and while he may not technically be your man, for all intents and purposes he was your man in your heart and you treated him as such, titles be damned), but you knew he had a sweet tooth, and while you were sure he appreciated the home cooked meals, you knew he’d never complain about the lack of sweets, even if he missed them. A friend back home had just recently shared her recipe for lemon meringue pie with you, and this seemed like as good an opportunity as any to test it out. 

In true Saturday fashion customers were few and far between, which gave you plenty of time to prepare it all. You’d already had a pie crust ready to go, having made them in batches and kept them frozen for just such occasions. The filling didn’t take long to whisk up, about 10 minutes in all. You were able to take care of a few customers while you waited for it to cool. Then of course the meringue itself, which was a bit trickier, but once it began to peak you let yourself breathe a sigh of relief. After that you popped it in the oven for 30 minutes, took some more customers, pulled it out and plopped it on a rack to cool.

When Clyde inevitably strolled in at 10:00 am the café smelled overwhelmingly of lemons, the zesty aroma immediately filling his senses. Clyde let the door swing shut behind him and breathed in deep, “Sweetness,” he drawled, finding your eyes behind the counter, “What’ve ya been up to today?”

You felt your face heat up and you smirked, coming out from behind the counter and meeting him toe to toe, answering with a shrug, “I haven’t made you a proper pastry in a while, thought you might be in the mood for one.”

Clyde’s warm honey gaze bores into you as his hand comes up to cup the side of your face, cradling it. You lean into his touch, reveling in the feeling of his thumb caressing your cheek, then your bottom lip, his calluses catching on the creases, “You didn’t have’ta do that fer me,” he croons gently, “I love everythin’ you make fer me, no matter what it is.”

Your voice comes out barely above a whisper, breathless from the feeling of security his large hand holding you evokes, “I know.”

He dips down, tilting your chin up for better access to your lips, and kisses you deeply. You feel his other hand wrap around your waist, vaguely noticing he’s wearing the robotic one, the metal digits press into your skin insistently. The hand holding your face slides down to the base of your skull, leveraging you further into his devouring kiss, the tickle of his moustache becoming more coarse and scratchy as he claims your lips over and over. He releases you slowly, keeping your bottom lip trapped between his teeth until he’s forced to let it go, but your faces stay close together, panting breaths warming eachother’s skin, the irritation caused by his facial hair beginning to tingle slightly. 

Clyde shakes his head a bit, pressing his lips tightly together before he speaks, “I’m sorry, Sweetness. I know I should control myself better, but,” he pauses, pupils blown black scan your already debauched form, he gulps before he continues, “yer hard ta resist.”

Your face heats up at the words that come out of his mouth, at the way his eyes drink you in, he overwhelms every single one of your senses, he thinks you’re hard to resist? Resisting him is all but impossible, and you’ve given up even trying. You run your hands over his plump pecs, sliding your palms down his stomach, trim yet soft, letting one hand curl its grip around his hip. The other slides down further, gently passing over the considerable bulge that has formed in the front of his jeans. Clyde practically hisses, right hand catching your wrist and wrenching it away. You watch him wide-eyed as his expression morphs, pupils so dilated there’s barely a rim of gold left, jaw clenched tightly, a muscle spasms under his left eye. But then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, pulls the questing hand to his chest and presses it flat against his heart underneath his large palm. When his eyes open again they’re still as black as before, but he looks more needy than hungry, “Please, Sweetness,” he pleads, tone desperate, “I’m tryin’, but I have my limits.”

The desperation in his face and tone twists something deep in your gut, your pussy clenches with want, “Clyde, you’ve brought me so much pleasure already, you have to let me return the favor.” You can feel your body revolting, demanding for Clyde. It’s 10 in the morning and you’re both standing in the middle of your cafe but none of that matters, not to the overwhelming need pooling inside of your core. You want Clyde’s cock, you want to feel his steel length in your hand, you want to taste his musk on your tongue, you want to feel him stretch your dripping, needy hole. 

But Clyde shakes his head, “You don’t need to return a damn thing, Sweetness. Gettin’ to touch you an’ taste you is pleasure enough.” So selfless, always so selfless. You can see the edge of undeserving in his eyes, and it constricts your chest. He’s treating you like a goddess meant to be worshipped, but he deserves to be worshiped too. Does he think he doesn’t deserve it? Clyde has been nothing but adoring to you ever since you first met, he can’t go on thinking he’s undeserving of love, of attention, of pleasure. Suddenly you’re desperate to prove that to him, heart wrenching to show him how much he means, how much he deserves.

“Please Clyde,” the hand that had been gripping his hip travels up to thread through his hair, “You’ve been so good to me, and I don’t just mean the orgasms. Getting to spend almost every day with you has been amazing. I didn’t know a man like you existed. You’re kind, considerate, an absolute gentleman, we have so much in common, we could talk for hours. You make me feel heard, you make me feel safe, you,” you pause for a moment, wondering if you’ve said too much. Your want for him, no, your _need_ for him, has loosened your lips, spilling all of your secrets. What if he doesn’t feel the same? But then you really look at him, you look into his eyes and you see how soft his gaze has become. He almost looks incredulous, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and pained, like he’s afraid it isn’t true. The need to convince him, to prove it to him, overrides your doubts, “You make me feel adored. Wanted. You aren’t just another guy looking to use me, or another person looking at me like I don’t belong. And I have this overwhelming need to return the feeling, because you deserve to feel it all too. Because I also adore you, I want you, I enjoy spending time with you and I enjoy listening to you. Ever since you walked through that door I haven’t felt alone, not for a minute, and I hope I’ve done the same for you, because you deserve it.”

Clyde stands there stunned, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar, seeming to let the words that just tumbled from your mouth sink in. Your fingers continue to card through his hair and you pull yourself closer to him, he still hasn’t released his grip on the hand being held over his heart, and you can feel how wildly it’s beating. His eyes begin to search yours, and they become more and more red rimmed as he does, “Do ya mean all that?” he croaks, expression clouded with doubt, but with an edge of hope.

You nod enthusiastically, “Yes, of course I mean it, I mean every word of it.”

Clyde sucks in a deep breath that hitches in his chest, you feel it as it catches under the hand held tightly to his heart, and suddenly you’re being pulled into a fierce hug, muscled arms holding you tightly to his trembling body. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, nose buried in your hair, and you begin to stroke his broad back, coaxing his breathing to return to normal.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, but you don’t know why he’s apologizing, “I don’t deserve ya,” his voice, now small and watery, hiccups, and suddenly the reason for his apology clicks into place.

“Don’t you apologize,” you say firmly, still stroking his back soothingly, your other hand petting his hair, “and don’t you talk about yourself like that. I say you deserve me, therefore you deserve me. If you want me, that is.”

Clyde freezes at this, pulling back to meet your gaze. His tear stained face is painted with shock, his voice trembles even as he speaks with conviction, “Sweetness, yer the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I don’t,” he stops himself, biting his lip before he continues softly, “only in my wildest dreams could I hope to have you.”

You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by his reaction, by the devastation and longing on his face, by your need to comfort the man who has made you happier than you’ve felt in longer than you can remember, “Do you want me?”

Clyde’s puffy red eyes are searching yours again, questioning you, he swallows thickly and croaks out his answer, “Yes.”

“Then I’m yours,” you respond with as much warmth and love as you can muster into words, “and you’re mine.”

Fresh tears spring from Clyde’s eyes, now wide with wonder, before he’s pulling you back into his embrace and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your own tears finally slide down your face, no longer able to be held back. You try your best to wrap your arms around his broad back and begin to rub soothing circles, you can feel the way he heaves and trembles in your arms and it only makes your own tears fall harder. You knew Clyde felt alone, felt different, just like you, but he had his siblings, he had his bar, you never realized just how alone he must have truly felt, not until now, not until you found yourself soothing his sobbing form. What an amazing thing, for two people who felt like such outcasts to find one another, to feel mutually about the other, to take solace in the other. The thought of having found solace in him and of being his solace, wrenches a particularly harsh shuddering sob from your body, one which Clyde responds to immediately by crushing you even tighter to his chest.

“Don’t cry, darlin’,” Clyde rasps in your ear, voice raw with emotion, “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean ta make ya cry.” 

You try to laugh, you let out a sound that was meant to be a laugh, tickled by the idea that he’d think these tears were somehow bad, “They’re happy tears, Clyde,” you hiccup, “I promise.”

He hesitates a moment before nodding into your neck, “Mine too.”

You hold eachother close until the tears slow down and the shudders subside, you rub his back and run your fingers through his hair, you do anything you can think of to soothe him. For his part, he doesn’t ease his grip, not for a moment, he keeps his face firmly buried into your neck and his arms bracketed around your body in an unfaltering hold. It isn’t until the shudders that had racked his body finally subside that he pulls back a bit, just enough to meet your eyes. He looks absolutely wrecked, eyes red and puffy, face blotchy, tear tracks streaked down his cheeks. His voice cracks when he speaks, sore from the exertion of emotion, “ ‘m sorry, Sweetness, I didn’ mean ta get like that.”

You suspect the status of your face must mirror his own, if the way your eyes and throat are aching is any indication. You shake your head firmly at him, “Don’t ever apologize for showing your emotions. I want all of you, not just the pretty parts.”

His chin wobbles and his eyebrows screw up again, but he swallows it down, nodding while he reigns himself back in. 

“Let’s get cleaned up and have some pie, I think we both could use some,” you smile up at him warmly, lifting a hand to cradle his face, swiping away a few not yet dried tears with your thumb, “Sound good?”

Clyde nods and does his best to smile back, golden irises swimming in watery eyes. You take his hand and lead him into the kitchen where a small bathroom is tucked away, and take turns splashing cool water on your faces. Before you turn to head back out into the café you swipe the lemon merengue off of its cooling rack and grab a pair of plates, a pair of spoons, and a serving knife. Clyde follows dutifully behind you, pulling out your chair for you upon reaching your table, tucking you in once you’ve been seated, taking his place across from you, all without saying a word, but words weren’t needed right now. You and Clyde knew where the other stood, where you stood together, now was the time for processing feelings. You sliced a piece of the lemon merengue pie for Clyde, setting it in front of him, but he didn’t begin to eat until you served yourself as well. He groaned at the first bite, just as you had hoped he would, the sound music to your ears, but otherwise you ate in silence. 

It wasn’t until spoons were left clinking on empty plates that Clyde spoke again, voice somewhat recovered from its earlier rawness, “Sweetness?”

You swallow your last mouthful of pie and meet his eyes, “Yes, sweetheart?”

His eyes drift away for a moment as he pushes out the words, “I was thinkin’… ‘bout tomorrow.”

He pauses, reaching across the table to take your hand into his, letting his thumb glide back and forth across your palm. You don’t push him to finish, you let him speak in his own time.

“I was thinkin’ maybe, after Taylor’s, you could come back to my place. I had a chance to set up the projector out back an’ test it out. We could watch one a’ the Universal Monster movies out there like we’d talked about,” His eyes come back to yours as he finishes, “If ya want to, o’ course.”

You smile broadly, giving his hand a squeeze, “That sounds great Clyde, I’d love to.”

At your consent he releases a breath, smiling broadly back at you, “Yeah?” 

You nod enthusiastically to confirm your agreement.

“Great, that’ll be, that’ll be great, Sweetness,” you can hear the excitement building in his voice, “Do ya have a request?”

“Nope,” you grin, “I trust your judgement, surprise me. Just promise me there will be popcorn.”

Clyde chuckles, “I’ll have popcorn.”

“Good,” you giggle, “Then it’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” Clyde repeats, mirroring your grin. He spends a minute just taking you all in, letting his honey eyes soak in every detail of your face, your neck, your chest, letting his hand tighten around yours, “I have’ta go,” he mumbles reluctantly, “You still want me over at 10 tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you say with a little less enthusiasm than you’d hoped, you were always sad to see Clyde go, “10 is perfect. I’ll have breakfast ready for you.”

“No,” he asserts a bit forcefully, before reigning himself back a bit, “No, Sweetness, wait for me ta get there first, I’ll help ya.”

His eagerness surprises you, but it isn’t unwelcome. When was the last time you cooked with someone? That sounded like fun, “Alright,” you nod, giving his hand a squeeze, “I’ll wait for you.”

Clyde releases a sigh of relief, he’d be damned if he missed a second of one of his biggest fantasies come to life, of the domestic bliss he had only dreamed about sharing with you.

“Good luck at work today,” you say, following him as he stands and heads for the counter, taking out his money, “Thank ya darlin, have a good night with Mellie tonight, be careful.”

You and Mellie, in traditional fashion, were going out together after work, but Mellie had surprisingly kept it low-key, having chosen a new lounge that had opened up in Charleston as your destination, some place called Noah’s.

“I will,” you smile as he kisses you once more before turning towards the door.

“Goodbye Sweetness,” he says with more emotion than usual. But then again, it’s been an emotional morning.

“Goodbye Clyde,” you sigh, blowing him a kiss before he turns to leave.

~.~.~.~.~

You had decided to set your alarm for 8:00AM, even though Clyde wouldn’t be over until 10:00AM, in an effort to give yourself plenty of time to dress, beautify, and straighten up before he arrived. This had ended up being a very good idea, because Mellie dropped you off particularly late last night, and dragging your body out of bed had become decidedly more difficult. But after having spent a little time thinking about the day that lay ahead of you, the thought of Clyde coming to see you lifted your spirits considerably, enough to finally roll out of bed and get on with the day.

You decided on wearing a light and flowy sundress, spaghetti strap, white with yellow daisies splattered across it, that came down to your knee. It even had pockets! It was accented with brown wooden buttons down the entire front. You had paired it with a pair of white keds, but had left those off for now, you didn’t need to be cooking in sneakers. You kept one of your work aprons at home, a little white frilly thing, that you now tied around yourself in preparation. Just as expected, the doorbell rang at 10:00AM on the dot, your ever-punctual Clyde right on time. You ran to the door and pulled it open eagerly to reveal your mountain of a man, dressed in a navy blue button down with the sleeves rolled, showing off that corded forearm you often dreamt about having wrapped around you, all tucked into fitted black jeans. 

“Good Mornin’, Sweetness,” he crooned from the doorway, “May I come in?”

“Please! Make yourself at home,” you exclaimed excitedly, stepping aside to give him room. Clyde took a tentative step inside, giving the living room a quick glance over before turning fully to you, “I brought ya somethin’,” he preens as he pulls out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. You gasp and reach for the delicate bundle, the spot of sunshine was comprised of sunflowers, yellow roses, soft blue delphinium, and some others that you didn’t exactly know the name of, but that came together to form a cheery package. “These are gorgeous, Clyde!” you croon, taking the bouquet from his hand.

“I know ya liked showin’ off the last bouquet I got ya,” Clyde smirks, “but this one’s fer home. I can get ya ‘nother one fer the café.”

You giggle and give him a playful slap on the arm, “Don’t be silly, you don’t have to go crazy.” You spend a minute admiring the bundle in your hands, breathing in the soft perfume, “I know exactly where I’m going to put these,” you breathe, “Follow me, I’ll show you the kitchen.”

Clyde follows behind you dutifully as you take him through the living room and into the kitchen. You take a porcelain vase down from one of your cabinets and arrange the bouquet inside of it, placing it at the center of your kitchen table with a flourish, “Perfect!”

Clyde absorbs his surroundings, noting the light wood cabinets, the tan marble counter, the wide open windows, the sills full of potted plants, the light wood kitchen table with enough room for four that now held his gifted bouquet in its center, “Your home is lovely, (Y/N).”

You turn to him and beam at the compliment, “Thank you, Clyde! It isn’t much but I made the best of the space.”

Clyde can’t help but wonder what someone like you could turn his humble little trailer into if this is what you did with your house. He takes in the brightly painted walls, the flowering plants, the colorful kitchen tools, “I wouldn’t say that, this seems like a whole lot to me.”

You blush at his sincerity, “I appreciate that, Clyde. Now enough of blowing up my ego, let’s get some food in you,” you busy yourself by pulling out pans, bowls, eggs, everything you’re going to need to prepare this meal. Clyde pushes his sleeves up further and steps beside you, “Where do ya want me, Sweetness?”

You smile up at him and hand him the carton of eggs and a bowl, “get cracking, I’ll get the bacon going in the meantime.” And with that you both set to work. You busy yourself preparing the bacon, peeling and cubing a potato for some home fries, all while Clyde cracks, seasons and whisks the eggs. Once he’s done with that he moves on to toast. At some point he begins to hum, you aren’t sure what song it is at first, perhaps you’re just too enamored with hearing the sound of his soothing baritone so close to you, until you finally catch on to the tune and begin humming along. Clyde has a permanent smile plastered on his face from start to finish, you’ve never seen him so… light before, so relaxed. You catch him glancing at you more than once, but he doesn’t hide it, even going so far as to wink at you, causing you to erupt in giggles. It doesn’t take long for the food to be ready for eating, not with the quick, precise work you both made of it. You shoo him off to take a seat at the table and plate your meals, but of course he waits for you, standing behind one of the chairs, pulling it out for you once you’ve set down the plates. 

The food is delicious, you both did a great job preparing it, and you can’t help but think how nice it feels to actually eat _with_ Clyde for once, instead of just cooking and watching, even though that too makes you happy. This feels… nice, being together like this, eating breakfast together in your little kitchen. Maybe Clyde feels that way too, if the way he’s blushing is any indication, you can see it creeping up his neck. His eyes are locked on yours more often than not, and the look reflected in them is of pure adoration. “This is nice,” he says quietly, expression warm. You nod in agreement, answering just as softly, “it is.”

You make small talk for the rest of your meal, chatting about what books you’re going to look for at Taylor’s. it all feels so comfortable, so… domestic. This situation is so easy to slip into, effortless, doing this with him almost feels like second nature, like something you had been made for but didn’t know it until you were doing it. You wonder if he feels the same way, and maybe he does, when it’s time to clean up he doesn’t hesitate to take up station at the kitchen sink, rinsing off the dishes and pans you hand him and then sliding them into the dishwasher. It feels as if you’ve been doing this together for a lifetime, even though it’s only the first. You can’t help but stare at him a little longer, admiring his profile, the slope of his brow, the regal cut of his nose, the plush pillow of his lips, wondering if maybe there was another lifetime for the two of you, wondering if maybe that’s why this man has fit so comfortably so quickly into your life, as if you’d been waiting for him, and he for you. 

Clyde finishes loading the dishes and turns to face you, catching your pensive expression, stepping up to cup your face in his palm, turning your lips up to his, capturing them delicately as he wraps his other arm around you. When he pulls away, it’s almost as if he can read your mind, read your train of thought, the way he’s looking at you now makes you weak in the knees, “All my life, this is all I’ve ever wanted,” he murmurs right into your lips, “a good woman to share my life with. Someone who understood me, who saw me as me, just me. Someone who shared my interests, and that I could share interests with. Someone who I could take care of, who I could treat the way they deserved,” he kisses you again, pressing his lips deeply into yours, “I met ya, an' it was like… like I’d always knew ya. It was like I’d been lookin’ for ya, but I just hadn’t found ya yet.” His eyes get redder and redder as he continues, and you can feel your own begin to prickle with tears. “Not to sound too forward, but,” he hesitates, searching your eyes for his courage, “now all I wanna do is this. All of this,” he gestures to the kitchen, “and the book shoppin’, and the movie watchin’, and the goin’ out to dinner. And you comin’ by Duck Tape to keep me company, and me goin’ to Sip o’ Sunshine to do the same for you. I want…” he stops again, closes his eyes for a moment, licks his lips, swallowing hard, “I want you. I meant what I said at the café. I want you to be mine, an’ I wanna be yours, if you’ll have me,” he finishes quietly.

You know that as soon as you open your mouth the tears are going to flow, so instead you get up on your tip toes and kiss him. You kiss him heavy and long, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. You pull him closer to you by those big adorable ears and you kiss him silly, you kiss him until you think you have enough strength not to cry when you speak, “I’m yours Clyde, I’m yours. I was already yours, you just didn’t know it yet.”

Clyde lets out a laugh that hangs heavy with emotion, and kisses you back just as fiercely. He ravages your lips until you feel his breathing stop hitching, until he pulls away, voice rough, “Will you be my girlfriend, (Y/N)?”

“I thought I already was,” you giggle, as tears drip down your cheeks. You hold his face in your palms, your whole world between your hands, and kiss him again, you kiss the goofy smile that’s broken out across his face, you kiss the tears that slip down his cheeks to mirror yours, you kiss him until the overwhelming emotions ebb just enough, and then you kiss him some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S OFFICIAL! Clyde asked us out, this is it, we're an official couple now!!
> 
> Truth be told, this wasn't supposed to happen for another week in Sip of Sunshine time lol but the way the chapter was flowing... it just felt right. And now maybe Clyde won't feel such a mighty need to hold back sexually if he knows that we undoubtedly like him and want to be with him, the poor baby is not good at reading the signs, his own terrible mind always gets in the way.
> 
> I'm excited to start writing in more domestic fluff, and more of Clyde showing us off. Also sex.
> 
> To explain something I wrote towards the end of the chapter, I liked the idea of soul mates being a thing, like they were together in another life and that's what has drawn them to eachother. That idea isn't really going to go anywhere further, so if you hate it don't worry lol, I just thought it would be something sweet to help propel this moment.
> 
> Has anyone re-read this story from start to current chapter recently? Just curious how well it flows. I usually reread the previous chapter before I work on the next, but that doesn't always give me the best of big-pictures. Too late now if it doesn't lol but I'd still like to know, out of curiosity.


	17. Make Me Guilty of Love in the First Degree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longer you perused the shelves, the more books stacked up in your arms, until you had to decide between balancing the stack in two hands and letting Clyde go, or putting some books back. The answer was obvious, but as you went to place a book back on the shelf, Clyde stopped you, “Here Sweetness, let me help ya,” he smiled, cradling a few of the novels in his left arm, sharing the load.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Rock Me Tonight" by Billy Squier
> 
> We are nearing the climax of this story (literally. lol!) which is very exciting. One of many moments you've all been waiting for takes place in this chapter, I do hope you all enjoy :)

It took a little while to pull yourselves together, kissing one another just seemed so much more important than much of anything else at that moment, but at one point Clyde pulled his plush lips from where they had made their home on yours, and with a mighty blush, cleared his throat, “We should think about gettin’ goin’ Sweetness, if we don’t leave fer Taylor’s now it’s only gonna get harder.” You knew he was right, you could easily spend hours at Taylor’s and their shorter business hours on Sundays meant you didn’t have nearly as much time as usual, but boy was it difficult to stop tasting the inside of Clyde’s mouth. Nothing quite compared to the way Clyde held you close to him, arms around you, keeping you flush with his large, firm frame, not even the temptation of books. But you had made a plan, and you intended on sticking to it, so you followed Clyde’s lead, relinquishing your claim on his soft mouth, and allowed him to lead you out of your front door and into his Pontiac.

It wasn’t a long drive into town, you spent all of it chatting about what you might be looking for, all the while keeping your hand firmly planted on Clyde’s thigh. Every time he stopped at a light he took the opportunity to grab and squeeze your hand in return, bringing it up to his lips to cover it in kisses, until it was time to drive again. Everything about your interactions was soft, affectionate, even the way Clyde pulled your door open for you when he pulled up in front of Taylor’s and offered his hand to help you out was reverent. You walked the short distance to the shop hand in hand, only letting go when Clyde insisted on opening the door for you, and even then, as soon as you were both inside your hands were joined once more.

“Let’s pick something to read together, first,” you offered, still not ready to let Clyde out of your sight. Clyde was all too eager to comply himself, nodding along with your suggestion, letting you lead him down the aisles. You took your time perusing the shelves, wandering from genre to genre, one of you occasionally pointing out something of interest. Clyde was particularly fascinated by a fantasy novel he spotted that told the tale of a female elf and a male dwarf falling in love amidst battle. You pulled two copies from the shelf and tucked them in to your arm, “We’ll keep it as a possibility,” you said with a wink. Whether or not you thought it seemed interesting, if Clyde found it interesting then it was worth checking out. Clyde seemed pleased at your agreement, giving your hand a squeeze and planting a kiss on your forehead with an, “Alright, Sweetness,” mumbled against your skin.

You found one about a headstrong human woman and an obstinate faerie man falling in love that seemed interesting, and it was part of a series which was always exciting to see, especially if the book turned out to be a good one. Clyde didn’t seem to object, so you snagged two copies of that as well and added them to the pile growing in the crook of your arm. as you continued to browse, it seemed to grow increasingly more clear that you would not be splitting off to look at books alone, if the furtive glances exchanged and gentle squeezing of the other’s hand every time one of you asked to look at a new section were any indication. This decision to stick together seemed to suit you both just fine though, the reluctance to part speaking for itself.

The longer you perused the shelves, the more books stacked up in your arms, until you had to decide between balancing the stack in two hands and letting Clyde go, or putting some books back. The answer was obvious, but as you went to place a book back on the shelf, Clyde stopped you, “Here Sweetness, let me help ya,” he smiled, cradling a few of the novels in his left arm, sharing the load.

At one point, when your stomach began to grumble, you checked your phone for the time. To your shock, three hours had already gone by. You weren’t even through looking at every aisle yet! Incredulously, you showed Clyde your phone screen, “Can you believe it? It’s been three hours! It barely feels like it’s been three minutes!”

Clyde observed the time and chuckled, “Ya know what they say darlin’, time flies when yer havin’ fun.” You couldn’t have agreed more.

It was still another hour before you began winding down. Taylor’s was set to close at 5pm and it was already 4pm, so with nearly twenty books between you, you turned to Clyde, “Think we should get going? We can drop off my copies at my place and figure something out for food. I don’t know about you but I’m getting hungry.”

Clyde nodded in agreement, eyeing your book haul, “Sounds like a plan ta’ me. How do ya feel ‘bout Peking? Over on Smoot. They make excellent lo mein. Then we can head to my place afterwards,” Clyde stopped, blushing, “Ya know, fer the movie.”

You agreed, feeling your face heat up in return. The movie… alone at Clyde’s place. Just the two of you, cuddled up together, watching a movie. You knew Clyde was reluctant to let you pleasure him, but you had to put an end to this unworthy mentality that seemed to be holding him back. Clyde deserved to receive just as much pleasure as he gave, and tonight it was time to start repaying him.

When it came time to pay for your books, Clyde, ever the gentleman, wouldn’t even let you get your wallet out, “This is a date, ain’t it?” he almost seemed to trip over the word _date_ , like he was afraid you were going to turn around and deny it as being such, “therefore it’s m’ job to take care of m’ lady.” You decided not to fight him on whether or not taking you on a date included spending $100 on books for you, and instead thanked him sincerely for the kind gesture. Clyde looked as proud as could be, handing over his cash and taking the two overstuffed bags from the clerk. Carrying them out to the car with his back just a little bit straighter, like taking care of you in some capacity was his proudest accomplishment. You wouldn’t begrudge him for it, it’s not like the gesture didn’t make your heart flutter.

Just as Clyde had said, Peking had delicious food. The meal was incredibly pleasant, most of it was spent chatting about which books you were most excited to start, which one you wanted to read together first, which ones were a part of series. By the time the waiter was coming out with the check it was nearly 7pm, a check which Clyde scooped up before you could even so much as look at it, with a self-satisfied smile plastered on his face.

The drive to Clyde’s place wasn’t very long, although he was a bit further out of town than you were. You soon found out why.

The little green trailer sat in a clearing, surrounded by trees, with a beautiful view of the mountains behind it. It was quiet, peaceful, the portrait of West Virginia that you’d always heard about. Of course this was where Clyde lived, nothing made more sense than this.

Clyde helped you out of the car and brought you inside. You couldn’t help but notice that the trailer was nearly empty. There were a few pieces of furniture, a couple of boxes, it almost looked as if, well, as if someone had either just moved out, or had just moved back in. Perhaps he saw the concern in your eyes, but before you could even ask Clyde was taking your hands in his and leading you the couch, one of the few pieces of furniture available, “There’s somethin’ I should tell ya, Sweetness. About me, I mean.” Clyde took a deep breath, seeming to search your eyes for the words he was trying to find, “Ever since the accident, it’s become a bit more difficult for me to do certain things,” he pauses, his expression heavy with sorrow. You give his hands a squeeze and look at him encouragingly, trying to convey as much comfort as you can. Clyde struggles to meet your eyes again, instead resting them on your lap, “Up until now, I’ve had ta live with someone, so they could,” he trails off, struggling with what he has to say. You begin to see the gist of it though, what it is he’s explaining. You want to help, to make this conversation easier for him, in any way you can, “So who do you live here with?”

Clyde looks both grateful and crushed at the same time, if that’s even possible, “I lived here with Jimmy, ‘til he bought a place closer to his daughter. After that I moved in with Mellie.” You nod in acknowledgement. Vaguely in the back of your mind you think to yourself, thank goodness you hadn’t tried to date Clyde in secret, you wouldn’t have gotten very far with Clyde living under Mellie’s roof. Clyde shakes his head, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat, “It’s been a long time though, I’m ready to try livin’ on my own again. So I’m movin’ back in,” he finishes, gesturing to the boxes, “I know it ain’t much yet, but,” you don’t let him finish though, instead leaning in to give him a kiss. He doesn’t respond right away, surprised by the sudden contact of your soft lips, but he eventually comes to his senses, responding to the kiss desperately. When he pulls away his expression is pained, “It ain’t much yet, but I’ll make it nice. An’ when I do, I hope you’ll want—I don’t know,” Clyde shakes his head, like the thought needs to be shaken loose, “I was just hopin’ maybe you’ll want to spend some time here with me, once in a while.”

“I’ll do you one better,” you smile, giving him another kiss, “I’ll help you get settled in. I’ll even help you decorate, if you’d like.”

Clyde’s expression is wrecked, gripping your hands tighter than ever, “You’d do that fer me, Sweetness?”

“Of course I would,” you respond proudly, grinning, “Just not tonight. Tonight we have a movie to watch. But after tonight, I’d love to help you make this place home again.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, it’s Clyde who leans in for the kiss this time, stealing a passionate one before pulling away and moving to stand, pulling you up with him, “Come on, Sweetness,” he begins to lead you to the kitchen, “I promised ya popcorn. I got one a’ them stove top pans, let’s get it goin’.”

As Clyde shakes the pan of popcorn over the stove, you stand with him, curled into his side, prosthetic arm wrapped protectively around you. It doesn’t take too long for the popcorn to really get going, the silver bag expanding rapidly. When it’s done, Clyde rips it open and dumps it into a large bowl, but he leaves it sat on the counter, turning to you instead, “Before I deal with that, there’s somethin’ I wanna do first. Come on, let me take you out back. Except…” Clyde can’t hide the giddy smile that seems to crack out, even as you can tell he’s doing his best to keep his lips pressed together in a firm line, “ya gotta let me cover yer eyes.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, but you nod your head in acceptance, “Alright Clyde,” you say with a chuckle, “I like where this is going.”

At that a chuckle does manage to escape him, but he quickly tries to bite it back, instead turning you around so that your back is to him, putting his large hands over your eyes, blocking your vision completely. Slowly he begins to lead you forward, walking you to the door. Carefully he eases you through it, out onto the grass, and around the back of the trailer. 

“Here we are,” Clyde says as he pulls his hand away from your eyes, revealing what it is he’s prepared just for you.

The yard behind Clyde’s trailer was set up to be the portrait of cozy. A little ways from the trailer was a couch, the kind you get with a patio set that you could remove the cushions from but the wooden frame would survive just fine in the elements. The cushions looked brand new, plump and inviting, accented with some colorful afghan blankets tossed over the arms and a few accent pillows. Leading out from the two furthest corners of the trailer and meeting in a “v” attached to a pole behind the couch was a string of Edison style lights, twinkling softly in the dwindling sun. In front of the couch was a coffee table of a similar color to the couch, perfectly positioned to house your popcorn and drinks. This coffee table also housed the projector itself, already positioned towards the movie screen, which hung from the back wall of the trailer.

“Clyde,” you gasped, taking it all in, hands coming up to cover your heart as it feels like it might burst right out, spinning slowly around to absorb every surrounding detail, “beautiful, this is so beautiful.”

But when you met Clyde’s eyes again, they were only interested in you, “it is,” he agreed softly, but it didn’t look like he was talking about the setup. 

Your heart swells further, and suddenly the two feet you stepped away from him is much too far, you step back in quickly and take his hand once more, squeezing it tightly, “Thank you for this, you outdid yourself.”

But Clyde only shakes his head, blush creeping up his neck, “Anythin’ for you, Sweetness.”

You lean in and kiss him lightly, just enough to show him how much this all means to you, but not wanting to get too heavy lest you both get too carried away before the movie even gets put on. He leans in to it, accepting the grateful kiss, and pulls away just enough to speak, “Go on Sweetness, go get comf’table, I’ll be back with our snacks.” You give a slight nod, reluctantly pulling away to head for the couch. As you settle into the comfy cushions Clyde re-emerges with a large bowl of popcorn balanced in the crook of his arm, and two bottles trapped between his fingers. He sets everything down on the coffee table, plays around with the projector until the movie starts up, and finally plops down on the couch next to you. It isn’t quite chilly yet, the sun still hanging just over the horizon, but you grab the blankets anyway, pulling one over Clyde and then yourself, and settling into the crook of his arm once you felt satisfied with the arrangement. Clyde just smirks affectionately, squeezing you a bit after you finally settle into him, and gives the top of your head a kiss.

The credits give way to the opening scene, and Mary Shelley begins the follow up to her original tale of hubris. Clyde leans forward, snagging your drinks and the popcorn bowl, nesting it in his lap, and hands you your bottle. You both take a few sips, watching the events of the film begin to unfold, taking a few handfuls of popcorn as the scene shifts to the burning windmill, the raging townsfolk cheering for the monster’s demise. You can’t help but get engrossed in the film, admiring how much work went into sets, costumes, actions. But it isn’t long before the warm press of your mountain man’s body against yours begins to take over your attention, and suddenly the movie just isn’t as engrossing as it once was. 

You reach out for his thigh, snaking your hand underneath the blanket, letting your fingers dance across the broad expanse. Clyde gives you a bit of a squeeze in acknowledgement but doesn’t move to stop you, eyes firmly fixed to the screen. You switch hands, letting the one closer to Clyde’s body begin to slide up his chest instead, resting on a plump pectoral, and bring your other hand across the continue the dance across his thigh. You turn a bit more towards Clyde, tilting your head up to look at his face. Clyde feels your eyes on him, and dips his chin down to meet your gaze, smiling softly at you. The hand on his pectoral strays further up, tracing up his neck, across his jaw, until you’re holding his face in your palm. Clyde nuzzles into your touch, placing a kiss on your palm, bringing his own hand up to cover yours, engulfing it completely in his massive palm, stroking his thumb along your knuckles. The hand that had been dancing across his thigh shifts in a little closer towards the inside, giving the softer flesh a light squeeze. Clyde growls, lids going heavy, you run your thumb along his facial hair, along his plump bottom lip, until finally pushing yourself up enough, using the hand on his thigh for leverage, to give him a kiss. You press in hard, wanting him to know this isn’t going to be some soft little butterfly kiss that’ll just flit away when you pull apart. This kiss is hungry, it wants to devour, it wants to worship, it will not be brushed aside. Clyde responds, pressing back, hand sliding to the back of your neck, just beneath your skull, to angle you the way he likes, just enough to give him better access to your sweet mouth. The hand you’d been keeping on his thigh slides up a little higher, now resting against the edge of the steadily growing bulge in his jeans. Clyde’s lips part, tongue darting out to seek entrance. You grant it easily, welcoming his invading tongue, tangling it with yours. The hand you’d had on his face slides back into his hair, fingers digging into the beautiful raven locks, while your other hand softly cups his bulge. At the contact you feel his cock jump, straining up towards the newly presented warmth of your palm. Clyde freezes, eyes going wide before his brow crinkles, his metal hand flying to grasp your wrist.

You watch in real time as his pupils dilate, the golden honey slowly being eclipsed by black, “Sweetness,” he growls, “please,” his tone is strained, “Ya can’t. I can’t—“ Clyde swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, “I can’t stop myself, if ya do that. Please, I don’t--” he practically pleads, “we gotta take it slow. If you get me goin’, I—“ his eyes swim with regret, “I’m jus’ not strong enough, Sweetness, I’m sorry.”

You set your face with adoring determination, pulling the hand that’s buried in his hair back to run your finger tips down his temple, “I believe in you Clyde, I trust you. I know you won’t take it too far. We’ll go slow, we are going slow, but I can’t keep taking pleasure from you.” Clyde opens his mouth to speak but you lay your fingers across his lips, stopping the protest before it comes out, “Let me pleasure you, I want to pleasure you.”

Clyde lets out a huff of hot air against your fingers, settling into a pout. You search his eyes imploringly, trying to show him just how important this is to you, just how much you trust that he won’t let himself get carried away. You slowly take your fingers away from his lips and instead skim your fingertips along every surface of his face: across his eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose, soft eyes pleading with him to trust you. He huffs once more, the pout slowly beginning to melt, giving way to apprehension, “We can-- we can try, but if it gets to be too much, I’m puttin’ a stop to it. Understood?”

You nod, smiling. His metal hand releases its grip on your wrist, allowing you to once again place your palm over his hard bulge. You put a little more pressure and again his cock jumps for you, exciting you, you watch Clyde’s face carefully for any sign that you should stop. Clyde’s pout has morphed into something more needy, urging you on. Everything leading up to this, his reluctance to take his own pleasure, has only further convinced you of the truth of the situation: number 1, he doesn’t think he deserves it. And number 2, he is hungry enough for you that he fears unleashing his pleasure will prevent him from controlling himself with you. You intend to thoroughly prove him wrong on both fronts.

You lean back up into his lips, kissing him slowly, letting your lips caress eachother carefully, really feeling the plush press. Your hand applies a little more pressure to his bulge and gives a tentative rub along what is obviously forming to be his length. Clyde groans into the kiss, pressing a bit harder, tilting your head back to once again grant him better access. You continue to rub his shaft slowly through his jeans as it hardens further, the length surpassing that of the length of your hand by almost double, much to your pleased surprise. Clyde’s tongue begs for re-entry to your mouth which you happily grant, letting it sweep over every surface. You slide your hand all the way up to the button of his jeans, undoing it with only a slight bit of trouble, and then carefully you pull down the zipper, being mindful of the thick pillar now straining against it. You get the zipper down to its base and then dip your hand inside, caressing his length over top of his boxer briefs. Without his jeans in the way you’re better able to grip the curve of his shaft, running your hand up and down the length of it a few times. Clyde moans, hand tightening in your hair, and presses his tongue further into your mouth. You run your hand back up to the root of his cock, trailing your fingers up to the elastic band of his briefs, and dip your hand underneath, down further until your fingertips glance taught velvet flesh. You pull down on the waistband until you feel his hard length spring free, hitting your arm as it bobs. You wrap your hand around the base, unable to grip it fully due to its sizeable girth, and Clyde sucks in a sharp breath, his movements stilling in light of your actions. You lick into his mouth before pulling away, wanting to see for yourself what your hand had such a difficult time harnessing. His cock stands proudly, tip flushed bright red, thick and throbbing. It must be at least ten inches, you distantly think, running your hand up the shaft, stopping at the lip of the head before bringing your hand back down. Clyde grips your hair so tight it hurts and buries his face into the top of your head, finally releasing a shuddering breath that you hadn’t realized he’d been holding. You run your hand back up his length, marveling at the feeling of velvet steel under your fingers, and this time let your fingertips caress the head, swiping under the sensitive glans, before finishing your downstroke. 

Clyde sucks in a sharp breath, grip on your hair tightening further to the point of pain, only encouraging you to pull your hand back up his ramrod shaft, tightening your grip, reveling in the feel of the soft steel beneath your fingers, the pulsing vein running the length of him. You begin to stroke him in earnest, up and down his throbbing cock, slowly at first, but quickly building a faster rhythm. He eventually pulls his face from your hair, leaning back enough to see what it is you’re doing to him, to see how your hand struggles to grip the thick pillar of him. He still has you held close to his body, you can feel how erratic his breathing is, hitching with unrestrained pleasure from the stimulation you’re giving him. You glance up at his face, wanting desperately to see how he’s being effected, and his expression does not disappoint. He struggles to keep his eyes open, and when they are they’re heavily lidded with lust. His mouth hangs agape, sucking in staccato, desperate breaths. He’s flushed from his collar to the tips of his ears, and it’s a wonder he has any blood left in his body with how much must have had to have gone to his cock in order to make something so large stand so proud and tall. You increase the pace of your strokes again, and although you can feel the strain in the muscles of your arm, nothing is going to stop you from seeing your man reach completion. 

Flushed and flustered, Clyde moans, “Ohh Sweetness, I‘m—oh fuck,” his ballsack tightens closer to his body, he’s reaching his limit. You use the hand not working his shaft to fondle his balls gently, at the contact Clyde chokes out a sound you’ve never heard a human being make before. You stroke as fast as you’re able, knowing this is it, giving it your all. Clyde goes rigid before his entire body shudders, moaning out low and loud as thick ropes of cum begin to shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his stomach. As the spurts begin to wane his entire body seems to crumple, exhausted from the overwhelming orgasm. You slow your strokes to a stop, carefully releasing his shaft, bringing your hand to your mouth. Clyde’s tired eyes follow the movement, widening as he realizes what it is you have planned. You begin to lick off the spend that had landed on your fist, keeping eye contact with him as you do so, Clyde moaning at the sight. 

When you deem your hand acceptably cleaned you smack your lips together and smile in an overly pleased gesture, wanting to make it clear just how delicious you found the salty taste of him. Clyde growls, then uses the hand still holding the back of your head to pull you roughly to his lips, ravaging your mouth, tasting himself mingling with your spit. When he finally pulls away, Clyde’s expression is a mixture of lust filled haze and hungry need, “Fuck, Sweetness,” he growls, “yer incredible.”

“Only for you, Clyde,” you reply with a wink, prompting a now thoroughly wound up Clyde to pounce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGERRRRR!!!
> 
> We hit 5,000 words, So I decided to break up the smut lol! Don't worry, next week we will tune in once more to see how Clyde repays Sweetness for what she's given him.


	18. I want to love you, and treat you right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We show Clyde that it isn't selfish to receive pleasure, and in return he just cannot help but give us that pleasure back ten-fold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Is This Love" by Bob Marley
> 
> I return from my week off with arm-loads of smut!
> 
> Sadly, with the fall comes more responsibilities, and my once copious free time is no longer so copious. I am doing my damnest to keep to my "every Saturday" post schedule, but should I know I am going to miss it I post about it on my Tumblr, Contesa-lui-Alucard, so if you'd like to keep an eye on what's going on, give me a follow!
> 
> That aside, this story is winding down. Kind of. Winding down might be the wrong turn of phrase, since really it's winding up for Clyde and Sweetness (as you are about to read), but that being the case, I wanted to let you all know to not fret if this story is something you are dreading ending. A lot of you really seem to like the way I write Clyde (which I appreciate immensely, I really feel like I hit my stride with him) so that being the case, I do not plan on stopping writing for him. I just may not do another 20+ chapter magnum opus again any time soon lol! But rather, some one-shots within the universe. I don't know what kind of schedule they will be on just yet, but I'd like to think at least 1-2 a month. Why so few? Because there are some other characters I've been flirting with the idea of writing for (See "My Princess" if you'd like to read my stab at Kylo Ren).
> 
> I'm so long-winded, goodness... my point is, enjoy the smut, and don't be sad that the story is ending because I'll be back with more. Love you all <3

Before your brain can process it, Clyde is on top of you, having re-positioned you so that you’re laying back across the length of the couch, head resting comfortably on one of the artfully placed throw pillows. For someone so large he moves with suspicious agility and ease, rearranging you to his liking as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll. He hasn’t tucked himself away yet, the mess left on his stomach and flaccid cock smearing against your sundress as he presses his large frame on top of you, but you don’t care in the slightest. Your dress can be washed, a messy night with Clyde cannot be passed up on. His plush pink lips descend upon yours, ravaging them, plundering them, his mustache and goatee scratching your sensitive skin to the point of pain with how hard he’s pressing his face into yours. He’s leaning some of his weight on his left elbow from what you can tell, although the weight of him on top of you, even if diluted, knocks the breath out of you, a breath which he hungrily steals. His right hand skates up and down your side, reveling in your curves, before coming up to your shoulder, yanking down the strap of your dress. You hear the pop of a seam as the cloth is wrestled down your chest, exposing an aching breast, which Clyde makes quick work of teasing, grasping your already hardened nipple between his thick fingers, twisting and pulling. You whine at the sensation, and Clyde takes the opportunity to press his tongue into your mouth, sweeping and tasting. One thick thigh is pressed between your legs, right up against your cunt, and even with your underwear and part of your dress layered between you, it wouldn’t surprise you in the least if Clyde ended up sporting a wet spot on his jeans. 

Until now, the sensation of him all over you overwhelmed you to the point of being unable to fully react, but your senses finally begin to return, and with it your burning need to seek release. You begin grinding down on Clyde’s thigh, memories of your night outside of Duck Tape coming to mind as you shift in the hopes of catching just the right angle. Clyde flexes his thigh in response, meeting your thrusts. It isn’t enough, you whine, digging your fingers into his hair and pulling on his raven locks. Clyde chuckles into your mouth, pulling away with a smirk, “I hear ya Sweetness, I know what ya need,” shifting down your body ever so slightly, pulling your exposed nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing the now sensitive peak. The hand that had been teasing it skates back down your body, pulling his thigh away just enough to give his hand access to the place where you needed him most. He pulls the skirt of your dress up, revealing your lacey panties, now completely soaked through. Thick fingers slide along the outside, just over your entrance, pressing through the fabric. Clyde groans, “Is all ‘a this fer me, Sweetness?”

You moan pathetically, “Yes,” you gasp out, “yes Clyde, all for you, I need you, please Clyde,” doing your best to grind down on the fingers he has held against your entrance. You feel Clyde shudder, his movements coming to a halt for all of a moment before he resumes with gusto. He pulls his hand away from your needy cunt, using it to pull down the other shoulder of your dress with another decisive pop from a strained seam, exposing both of your breasts to the cooling night air. Clyde latches on to the previously unattended nipple, biting and licking until it’s swollen and sensitive, using his hand to massage the other lest it get lonely. You dig both of your hands into his hair, grasping and pulling, picking your legs up to wrap them around his waist, your heels coming to rest on the small of his back, seeking the friction he seems so keen on denying. But before you can do much else Clyde’s hands are grasping your thighs, pulling your legs from his waist. He slides his hands up behind your knees and pushes them back towards you, fully exposing your soaked panties to him. He releases your nipple with a pop and leans back, taking in the sight of your need soaking through the lace. He hums as he drinks in the sight, eyeing it hungrily, then presses his now semi-hard length to the lace, rubbing himself against you. You gasp at the feeling of his quickly hardening cock so close to where you crave him, the stone-like pillar of him rutting against the soaked barrier slowly yet with force. 

Clyde’s eyes flick from the sight of his thick cock grinding against your wet heat, mere centimetres from your aching core, to your wrecked gaze. His eyes are mere slivers of gold, the slightest of rings, being otherwise overtaken by his blown wide pupils. His jaw hangs loose, lips slightly parted, eyes darting down again to watch where his now fully engorged cock rubs so deliciously against you, licking his lips at the sight. He tilts forward, changing his angle, just enough to catch your clit, causing you to keen in delight. It isn’t enough, it isn’t nearly enough, but it feels so good to have him so close, to feel him there, right over that sensitive bundle of nerves. You tilt your hips up further, leaning in to the way he has your thighs pushed back, trying to find just the right angle, and it works, his cock glides over you again and you moan, long and loud, the delicious pressure of him hitting right where you want it. Clyde growls at the sound, leaning more of his weight into his thrust, picking up his pace. 

A frustrated curse flies from his lips, and with a jolt he stops thrusting, pulling away as his hands travel up your thighs to grasp your panties, pulling them down and off of your legs in one swift motion. You let your legs fall open for him, your dripping cunt now fully bared to his heated gaze. You wonder if this is it, if Clyde’s going to push inside of you, but a moment later he’s shimmying down the couch, pushing your thighs up and out to make room for his broad shoulders, burying his face between your thighs. He begins to lap hungrily, long broad stripes with his tongue from entrance to clit, licking up every drop of your arousal. Your hands grip his thick shoulders, digging your nails into the pale, speckled flesh, dragging them up his neck and into his hair, grasping at his scalp. The tip of his talented tongue finds your clit, and he uses his fingers to pull back the hood, exposing it fully to his ministrations. His tongue circles it, laps against it, leaving you squealing and gripping on to him as your thighs attempt to close shut. He holds you firm though, keeping you spread open for him to feast upon, tracing over and around your clit repeatedly until you feel your legs begin to shake with what is undoubtedly your impending orgasm. He knows it too, using his right hand to drive two thick fingers deep into your core, your walls immediately grasping and pulling at his digits. His tongue continues to flick at your engorged nub, your back beginning to arch, when his fingers crook up to hit your g spot, and his lips wrap around your throbbing clit and suck, and then you’re exploding from the inside, bursting apart, screaming his name as you tense and release.

Clyde pulls his fingers out slowly, but wastes no time licking up every ounce of arousal that you dripped out just for him. When he leans back to look up at you, his face is coated, moustache and goatee glistening with it, slick as a raven’s wing. He’s gasping for air, just like you, you who is nothing more than a puddle beneath him, boneless with pleasure. But unlike you, Clyde is far from done, propping himself back up on his knees. You look down at his swollen cock, now throbbing red, engorged with blood, as he once again begins to rub it against you. But now there are no lace panties to act as a barrier, your swollen lips feeling every inch of his velvet flesh as he thrusts it against you. In a few passes his cock is coated in your juices, gliding against you with ease, slipping between your folds, but not yet penetrating, not yet entering you, just gliding along you, feeling a fraction of how wet and hot your core is. Clyde’s eyes are almost rolled back in his head, struggling to watch the incredible sight before him, his jaw once again agape, lost in the feeling of you almost wrapped around his cock. He picks up his pace, rutting against you with increasing strength, angling to hit your already sensitive clit. You cry out at the contact, hands going wild to find something to grab on to since from this angle Clyde is just out of your grasp. You reach behind you, grabbing on to the pillow your head rests on, unable to resist closing your eyes as the pleasure of his bare cock rubbing against your swollen clit overtakes you. 

“Look’it me, Sweetness,” Clyde growls, “Look’it what’m doin’ to ya.”

You force your eyes open, meeting his honey gaze, glazed with hunger and arousal. The tip of him just catches your entrance and he grunts, changing his angle to continue gliding against you, “I want ya to remember who made ya feel this way,” he ruts against you particularly aggressively, as if punctuating his statement, “to remember who made ya cum like this without even havin’ to put their dick in ya.”

Your senses are absolutely fried, nodding and moaning and struggling to form a coherent sentence, “Yes, yes Clyde, you, only you, amazing, you’re amazing, ohh Clyde,” you babble, moving your hips in time with his thrusts, coming closer and closer to your peak, feeling the heat pooling in your core once more.

“Fuck!” Clyde growls, speeding up his thrusts, leaning in to ensure he catches your clit on every pass. He must be close, sweat dripping down his brow and eyebrows knitted together. His cock is such an angry shade of red it looks like it’s fit to burst. He snakes his hand down between your legs, pulling back the hood that covers your clit, exposing it to the air, drags a calloused thumb through your juices and begins to rub tight circles around it. The heat in your belly pools and pools until you can’t take it anymore, arching your back, thrusting up your tits, and crying out, eyes screwing shut, as your orgasm crests over you once more. Just as you’re barely reopening your eyes Clyde joins you, his thrusts becoming erratic before his back goes rigid. With a grunt his cum shoots out of him, and as it covers your pelvis and stomach he moans. 

You both take a moment to catch your breaths, looking from the place where your most intimate parts still touch, to eachother’s eyes. As your breathing evens out Clyde releases your legs, letting them gently fall on either side of him. His expression turns guilty, eyes darting from your pussy, to his cum splattered against your stomach, to your face. You can feel the apology building in his mouth before he even opens it, “Sweetness, I— shit, (Y/N), I’m, I’m so sorry, that was inappropriate of me—“ 

But before he can continue you sit up and press a finger to his lips, stopping his words in their tracks, “Clyde Logan, you just gave me two of the best orgasms I’ve ever had in my life, without even having to put your gorgeous cock in me, and now you’re going to sit there and apologize? For what?!”

Clyde’s expression turns shocked, and he stutters on his response, “I-- I d-didn’t mean to take it so far, we’re supposed to be takin’ things slowly and all, but you were so good to me, your hand felt amazing, and I—I just couldn’t stop myself, I had to make ya feel good, but then you just looked so temptin’ and I couldn’t help but wanna feel how good I knew you’d feel against me, but Sweetness--.”

You press your finger further into his lips, cutting him off, “But Sweetness nothing, you didn’t cross any lines Clyde. All of that was amazing, simply amazing. So amazing that I,” with that a shiver from an aftershock thanks to your orgasm rolls up your spine, “can still feel the effects of the pleasure you gave me.”

But Clyde doesn’t look convinced yet, barely meeting your eyes. You lay back down against the couch and hold your arms open to him, “Come here,” you croon, “lay with me. I don’t want your apologies for giving me something I wanted. What I want is you. Now come here.”

He glances down at you, eyes darting between your spread open arms, to your content face still glazed with pleasure. He blows out a breath and lets himself ease down over you, coming into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him, and he settles his head into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms tightly around you, crushing you to him. 

A broken whisper ghosts against your ear, “Are ya sure, Sweetness?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than I am about you, Clyde. I promise you,” you whisper back, reaching up to pet his hair. He releases a shuddering breath and you feel as his entire body relaxes into you, “You’re amazing,” he replies, “Everythin’ about you. Who you are, the way you feel, there’s no one else like you.”

You tighten your hold on him, letting your fingers pull gently through his raven locks as you whisper in his ear, “There’s no one like you either, Clyde. How many times do I have to tell you that I want you? That I want to be with you?”

Clyde stiffens at your words, you feel his breath hitch as he works out his response, brokenly whispering, “As many times as you’ll say it, Sweetness. I’m sorry, I am, but as many times as you’ll say it.”

“Then I’ll say it until I’m blue in the face,” you croon, nipping at his earlobe, “I want you, Clyde Logan. I, (Y/N) (L/N), want you, Clyde Logan. I. want. you,” you punctuate the last refrain with quick kisses to any exposed flesh you can reach.

Clyde shudders at your profession, then grips you tight before rolling over. You squeal as he turns both of your bodies so that you now rest comfortably on top of him, his back on the seat cushions of the couch. You pick your head up to gaze into his beautiful honey eyes, smiling softly at him. You nestle into his broad chest, enjoying the feel of his wide, firm body underneath you. Clyde offers you a watery smile, eyes darting to take in every centimetre of you that they can capture, as if committing it to memory. 

Eventually both of your attentions drift back to the movie, and you spend the duration in comfortable silence, never moving your positions. Clyde doesn’t seem to mind the perch you’ve taken up on his chest, and you certainly are far from uncomfortable. At one point Clyde grabs one of the discarded Afghans and drapes it over your shoulders, although truth be told Clyde generates plenty of heat to keep you nice and warm against the chill of the night air. You don’t turn it down though, enjoying the intimacy it offers, pretending this is how things might be in one of your beds. 

Suddenly parched, you go to reach for your drink, but your arm just isn’t long enough to reach. Clyde sees you struggling, fingers wiggling, so close yet so far, and with a smile reaches out and grasps your bottle for you, bringing it into your struggling hold. He smiles at you as you chirp a thank you to him, downing most of the beverage in one gulp, satiating the desert-like status of your mouth. Clyde joins you, grabbing his own bottle of beer and taking a swig. A few droplets get caught in his mustache, you waste no time dipping down to lick and kiss them away, earning you a chuckle from Clyde who thanks you for your help cleaning him up. 

Frankenstein’s monster meets his bride who screams in horror, while Clyde grabs the lip of the popcorn bowl, pulling it towards you. You take turns feeding eachother kernels as Frankenstein’s monster laments, reveling in the feeling of Clyde’s soft lips sucking the salt the popcorn leaves behind off of your fingertips.

When the credits begin to roll, the bowl of popcorn is almost empty, your drinks long finished, Clyde’s even breathing lifting and dropping you with each inhale and exhale. You can hear the steady thump of his heart under your ear, beating a comforting tattoo that could lull you to sleep if you let it. Your eyes meet once more, your faces now lit by the soft glow of the stringed lights, and Clyde leans in slowly, pressing his lips against yours. You kiss even as the credits finish, soft skin rubbing and pressing, tongues swiping over every surface available, tasting everything they can reach. Even when the dvd menu appears on the screen, Clyde doesn’t relent, one hand traveling down to grasp at the globe of your ass, the other cupping the back of your head, angling your mouth the way he wants. 

When you finally pull away, Clyde looks absolutely kiss drunk, expression blissed out, eyes lidded, lips puffy and red. You press a kiss to the tip of his regal nose before you speak, “I should probably get going, it’s getting late.”

Clyde doesn’t respond at first, but his eyes tell you everything he wants to say. His expression is pleading, and you would wish for nothing more than to spend the night with him, but if Clyde wants to take things slowly still, a sleepover will almost surely dash those desires. He seems to realize it too, nodding reluctantly, “I’ll take ya home, Sweetness. I know ya got an early day tomorrow.”

It hurts, to see him so disappointed, to know that you both want the same thing but that his wishes aren’t unrealistic and honoring them is in both of your best interests, but you can’t help what comes out of your mouth, “Can we do this again this week?”

Clyde’s eyes go wide, he’s nodding before he can even get the words out, “Of course Sweetness, of course we can. Maybe you can come by Duck Tape on Friday, and this time when I close up we can come back here fer a bit, spend some time alone together. How’s that sound to ya?”

You nod eagerly, grinning at him, “I’d like that a lot, Clyde.”

He grins in return, pulling you in for a kiss, “Good, then it’s a date.”

He blushes after he says it, but you don’t even give him the chance to second guess it, repeating it back to him with confidence, “It’s a date.”

Carefully he sits up, pulling you up with him, giving you a second to adjust as he lifts you both to standing. You each take a second to adjust your clothes, righting anything that still laid askew, and Clyde apologies profusely when he sees the state of your dress, “I’m so sorry Sweetness, I’ll get ya a new one, I promise.” But you just laugh, brushing him off. The dress was a worthy casualty of the evening, plus you’d gotten it on clearance so no harm, no foul.

The drive home is spent quietly discussing the movie, or at least the parts of it you’d caught. Then about what should be next on the watch list. By the time he pulls up in front of your house you’ve gotten a three way tie between what the next movie should be, resolving to come to a conclusion at the café tomorrow.

Ever the gentleman, Clyde walks you to your door, waiting for you to unlock it and swing it open, before pulling you in for one last toe-curling kiss. You whisper goodnights into eachother’s lips, vowing to see eachother tomorrow, before Clyde reluctantly pulls away, waiting until you’ve closed the door behind yourself and he’s heard the lock latch before lumbering back to his Pontiac, disappearing into the night.


	19. I bet you didn't know someone could love you this much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clyde laments how slowly the week drags by, but he finds ways to keep himself from going too crazy over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is "Dangerous" by Big Data
> 
> I got nothin' this week, it's been a long week. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed what you've read, they are appreciated.
> 
> Also if you're into RPing or just in-character asks, I've been answering questions as Clyde on my Tumblr Contesa-lui-Alucard, come on by!

To say he was unaffected would be a bold faced lie, and Clyde was not in the business of lying, not when he could help it. You had taken him over completely, in every sense of the idea. You were all he thought about, you were what he saw in his dreams, both waking and sleeping. He daydreamed about you while he was working, imagining what you’d be doing if you were there with him, keeping him company. He daydreamed about you as he lay in bed at night, imagining how you might tuck your little body in around his, how he’d pull you tight to his chest and burrow his nose into your hair. And every night he dreamt about you, about what he’d love to do to you, about the kind of future he hoped you could have.

There were little remnants of you throughout his trailer: an empty bottle, an afghan blanket tossed aside, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn. You were the smell that still lingered on his fingertips, which he pressed right up to his nose before he tugged his cock after dropping you off Sunday night, and again on Monday morning. Stroking himself to the memory of how amazing you felt slicking up his shaft, imagining how much more incredible you must feel on the inside. 

It physically pained him to take you home the night before, to take you _from_ his home, _so close to his bed_ his dick whispered, so close to where you belonged. You belonged with him, you did, you had to, he wanted you to, he wanted you to be his so badly. He’d take such good care of you, he’d give you everything you could ever want, he’d be the best husband he could be. He knew he had some shortcomings to make up for, but he’d do his best to make up for them. You didn’t know about what happened at Charlotte Motor Speedway, and if Clyde had his way you never would, but for all that the experience upset him, he had to admit that the extra money it had provided him with would undoubtedly come in handy. He could use it to buy you a house, a big one, like the one Bobbie Jo’s new husband had bought her down in Charleston. You didn’t deserve to be cooped up in this ratty old trailer with him, you deserved the best that he could give you.

The only thing he wanted more than for you to be his, was for him to be yours. It was the one thing he wanted more than anything else, even more than he wanted his hand. You were everything he could have ever hoped for, everything he could have ever asked for, dreamed of, wished for, nothing would make him happier than to hear you proudly declare that he was yours. He could picture it now, right there in the middle of Duck Tape on a busy Saturday night, you sauntering in, swaying your hips the way you do, walking right up to the bar, pulling him down to your level by his collar and planting a big kiss right on his lips, greeting him with a, ‘hey baby,’ or a, ‘I missed you, sweetheart,’ something like that. And all of the patrons would be staring, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky as to get a girl like you. And Clyde would just smile, and pinch your ass cheek, and swallow down the little squeak you’d make as he kisses you back, thinking the same thing his patrons are thinking: _how did I get so lucky?_

Clyde spends a little more time smelling his fingers, daydreaming about everything he wants to give you, _a big house, a couple of kids, all of my love and devotion, multiple orgasms every night_ , before it’s time to finally get up and get his day started. He has an hour before you’ll expect him at the café, which gives him plenty of time to get ready and head over.

He goes about his routine: showering, shaving, brushing his hair, getting dressed. He pulls on his undershirt, carefully tucks it in, and then picks out a long sleeved button down shirt for today, noting that the temperature is beginning to cool off. Once he looks sufficiently groomed he grabs his keys and heads for the Pontiac.

It’s the same routine Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday. Clyde wakes up from a pleasant dream about you, his morning wood all but confirming it. The smell of you is gone from his fingers now but he remembers it, can smell it in his memory. He pulls his cock out and over the waistband of his shorts, puts a bit of lotion in his hand, and begins to stroke himself. He thinks about what your first time together is going to be like, imagining how the events will play out. he’d like for it to happen right here in his bed, but he’ll make sure the place looks nice first. Maybe he’ll light a few candles, or string some more of the lights he’d gotten for the backyard, you really seemed to like those. He’d undress you slowly, really taking his time to watch as you’re slowly exposed to him, every beautiful inch of you. He wouldn’t stop until you were completely naked. Then he’d worship you, kiss you all over, licking and sucking and tasting. He’d linger at your neck, biting and sucking until the spot turned purple, then soothe it with his tongue. Somewhere that people would see it, so that they’d know that you’ve got someone special in your life, someone who worships you proper. He’d leave some on your perfect breasts too, right on the soft underside, before moving up to tease your nipples, sucking and laving at the hardened peaks. He’d slowly work his way down your sternum, kissing and tasting along the way, past your belly button. Then he’d continue down one of your thighs, giving the thick flesh a squeeze, sinking his teeth into the delicate inner skin. He’d keep going down, gently lifting your leg to give him access to your calf, nipping at the muscle, before finally reaching your foot. He’d place a soft kiss on the pad of each toe, you’d giggle and squeal at the way his facial hair tickled you and try to pull away, but he would hold your foot firmly in his grasp, brushing his mustache along the arch of your foot just to hear you squeal again, before finally relenting. Slowly he’d work his way back up, back up along your calf, licking behind your knee, kissing up your inner thigh, until he was face to face with your pussy. By now it would be absolutely dripping, so turned on by the way he worshiped you. He’d give it a kiss, lick up some of your juices, and then continue on to your other thigh, intending to give that leg the same treatment. You would whine and groan in protest, so mad at him for teasing you, but he’d just chuckle and continue on, loving the way you wanted him so badly. 

By the time he’d finally come back up to your core, you’d be writhing, begging him to touch you. He’d oblige of course, that was enough teasing for one night, even for him. He’d prop your legs up on his shoulders and settle in between your thighs, bringing his face right up to your sweet center. He’d breathe in your scent, press his nose right to your pubic bone and inhale, before beginning to lick. He’d make long, broad strokes with his tongue from your entrance up to your clit, using his hand to pull the hood back enough to give him full access. Your whole body would jolt at the sensation when the tip of his tongue dances around it, but he’d do his best to hold you still. He’d press his tongue into your entrance, try to wiggle his way inside, but it would be so difficult, because of how hard you’d be clenching. So instead he’d take his finger, run it around your opening, and then slowly slide it in. You would mewl with delight, so happy to finally have him inside, even if it was only a finger. He’d get back to work licking your clit, flicking over and around it, while he simultaneously pushed in and pulled out his finger. After a while he’d add another finger, enjoying the way you’d keen as he stretched you, his fingers are pretty thick, after all. But you’d adjust pretty quickly, moaning more and more as he pushed them in and out. he’d swivel his wrist and begin to press, looking for that special spot, he’d know he found it when your back arched off of the bed. Then he’d press at it and rub it, and he’d push his mouth up against your clit, wrapping his lips around it and sucking on it, until your fingers threaded into his hair and began to pull, and your back lifted off of the bed, and you moaned real high and loud, and your thighs clamped against his ears, and your whole body shuddered. 

That’s about the time when his whole body shuddered, when a groan escaped his lips and his back went ramrod straight. Cum spurted out of his flushed cock painting his stomach, his chest, his hand, his strokes faltering as he finished. He stayed there with his eyes closed, heaving a content sigh, enjoying the last little remnants of his lovely little daydream, before rolling out of bed to start his day.

But even with his increased daydreaming, even with getting to see you every morning at the café, the week seems to drag, and Clyde can’t help but wonder if it’s because of how much he anticipates you coming over Friday night. 

On Friday morning he finally gives you directions to Duck Tape, hand written on a piece of paper. He can’t drive you himself on account of him having to already be there by the time you’re free, and he doesn’t really want to ask Jimmy or Mellie to take you. Truth be told, he wants you there alone, or as alone as you two can be while he’s working. So he drew you up directions that he hopes you can understand, and hands them to you over breakfast. 

“It shouldn’t be too tough to find,” he shakes his head as you peruse his handiwork, “But if ya do get lost, just gimme a call, I’ll come find ya.”

You giggle at him, slapping a hand to your forehead, “Gosh Clyde, if I can’t make it 20 minutes to your bar, there really isn’t any hope for me!” He chuckles at you, but he wants to tell you that isn’t true. So what if you got lost? He would find you. Some day soon, you won’t ever have to worry about anything ever again, if he can just prove to you that he’s worth your time.

~.~.~.~.~

You checked your reflection in the mirror one more time for good measure, adjusting the hem of your emerald green dress, tugging it to make sure it rested perfectly above your knee. The lycra glittered in the light as you turned to and fro until you were thoroughly satisfied with the way you looked. The bodycon style dress hugged your curves perfectly, the straps baring your neck, shoulders and arms, putting them out on display in the hopes that Clyde might adorn them with a few of his own decorations of the purple and red variety. With one final glance you slid on your cowboy boots and headed for the door.

Following Clyde’s directions as carefully as you can, you make your way to Duck Tape. It isn’t terribly complicated, a few turns you may have missed had you not had his directions but nothing you couldn’t handle otherwise. It doesn’t take long either, before you’re pulling into a parking lot at 70% capacity, coasting into a parking spot. You check your lipstick in the rear view mirror and let out a nervous breath. This is obviously far from being your first time coming to see Clyde but the butterflies swoop around in your stomach all the same.

As you pull open the front door your eyes immediately settle on him, standing tall and proud behind the bar, gaze already locked on to you. He smiles at you, broad and crooked, and your heart almost stops at the sight. You give him a little wave and a beaming grin and saunter up to the bar stool sat directly in front of him, “Hey sweetheart,” you purr with a wink, “How’s it going tonight?”

Clyde swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and grins, “Jus’ peachy,” he replies as his eyes soften, “Ya look gorgeous Sweetness, yer glitterin’ like an emerald,” he says awestruck, dragging his gaze from your eyes down to your toes and back again, drinking you in. You feel your face heat up and you bite your lip, trying to keep your composure, “How sweet of you to say, Clyde. Thank you. You’re looking just as handsome as always, yourself.” Now it’s his turn to blush, running an embarrassed hand through his hair, “That’s awful sweet of ya ta say darlin’, thank you.”

You shake your head and hop up on to the bar stool, “I’m just telling the truth. Frankly some days I’m jealous of your hair, it always looks so perfect.”

Clyde blushes even more, the red traveling up his neck and out to his ears that just peak through his raven locks, “That’s all Mellie, I wouldn’t know what ta do wit’ my hair if it weren’t fer her.”

“Give yourself some credit too Clyde,” you smirk at him, “You were the one born with it on your head, it’s nice because it’s yours, not just because Mellie helps you take care of it.” You reach out a hand towards him, beckoning him to give you his. He does, Clyde places one large hand into the palm of your much smaller one, wrapping his fingers around it and pulling it up to his lips, “You’re too kind, Sweetness,” he says into your fingers, letting his lips brush against your knuckles, “let me make ya a drink.” He mumbles, but rather than pulling away he begins pressing kisses into each knuckle, honey gold eyes looking up to meet your quickly unraveling expression. You swallow, your other hand coming up to your mouth in a vain attempt to try and stifle the little whimper that escapes you at the feel of Clyde’s pillow soft lips pressing down on your burning skin. You want more, you want those lips on your neck, your chest, your thighs, there are so many more places those lips need to be. He tilts your hand back and kisses a trail down to the inside of your wrist, lingering over your quickening pulse. 

You can see the desire in his eyes, he nips at the thin skin of your inner wrist with those crooked teeth, it couldn’t be any clearer how badly he wants to devour you, but Clyde has a shift to get through first. You both know it, even if neither of you wants to deal with it. Clyde clearly doesn’t, not judging by the way he continues to kiss and nip at your inner wrist, adding his tongue to the mix, laving at the bitten flesh. He plants his mechanical hand on the bar top and leans forward, then drops down to his elbow, bringing him almost eye level with you. He pulls your wrist away from his mouth just enough to speak, “Two AM can’t come fast ‘nough, Sweetness,” he whispers into your skin. He pulls your hand to his chest, right over his heart, and presses it there. Then he leans in and kisses you, long and slow. Those delicious lips press into you and you hungrily take what they give, struggling to keep the kiss slow, the hand that you’d kept near your mouth now reaching up to tangle in his hair, anchoring him to you. 

From somewhere behind him you hear someone give a wolf whistle, followed by a few chuckles. You can feel Clyde smiling into the kiss, and a giggle slips out of you. Clyde drinks it down, giving one of his own back to you, before he pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, “We’re causin’ a scene, Sweetness.”

“Good,” you smirk, “let them see how much I want you, Clyde Logan,” you give his lips one last peck before pulling away, enjoying the way he blushes at your words. Blushes, yes, but also looks proud, something you aren’t used to him displaying. It warms your heart immensely, to see him looking so proud of himself, like making a little scene with you is the best thing he’s done all day. You bite your lip, so taken by this little display, and in an even more uncharacteristic display Clyde winks at you. You think your heart may have stopped right there and then. how cheeky of him! You give a breathless giggle, trying to compose yourself as you come to terms with this different face of Clyde, but undoubtedly loving it.

Clyde gets back to work shortly after that, mixing drinks and making conversation with his customers, trying to not let himself get too distracted by your presence, but often failing. More often than not you find him staring at you, giving a little grin when he knows he’s been caught, giving a little wink when he catches you staring back. You absolutely eat up this little display from him, not quite sure what’s changed in him but not wanting to question it. Maybe you’ve just helped him find a little more confidence. If so, good, it was about time Clyde got some more confidence in himself. It was heartbreaking to see someone so full of love and kindness, someone so caring and considerate, someone so breathtakingly handsome, think so lowly of himself. Clyde is such a good man, the perfect man really, a man you could see yourself spending, well, spending your life with. You don’t want to get too ahead of yourself, but what you have with Clyde, you sincerely hope it only grows.

Whenever Clyde has a free moment, you spend it chatting together. You decide that this weekend’s movie should be The Creature from the Black Lagoon, and that you specifically want M&M’s to mix in with the popcorn. Clyde promises to make it happen, and mentions wanting to try making a themed drink to go with it. You wholeheartedly agree, praising the idea, excited to see what he comes up with.

Unlike the rest of the week, time seems to fly in Duck Tape, and before you both know it it’s just about closing time. You help Clyde close things up, wiping down tables as he flips up chairs, even as he begs you to let him do it. Between the two of you, you make quick work of the cleanup, body almost vibrating in anticipation of what’s to come next. As the last chair is stacked and you both head for the door, Clyde turns to you as he prepares to flick the lights. Licking his lips he asks, “Ready ta come home wit’ me, Sweetness?”

You nod, smiling broadly, “Yep, I’m ready.”

If Clyde smiled any brighter, he’d put the sun to shame.


	20. Come on now touch me, baby. Can't you see that I am not afraid?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up at Clyde's trailer, passions run high and lust clouds judgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Touch Me" by The Doors
> 
> These two about to foreplay the sh*t outta eachother once again.
> 
> The Chapter count is a lie, I'm thinking there's going to be at least two-three more chapters as part of the continuous story line. Then I'll break off into the one shots, which I will likely start a new "story" on here for. I am specifically doing this so that people who were waiting for the story to be completed before reading can enjoy it, since I don't blame anyone for sitting out this 25 chapter cock-tease lol!
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, I hope you enjoy!

You spend the drive to Clyde’s in what feels like semi-comfortable silence, a reluctance to speak spurred on by the tension slowly building between you. It’s as if speaking will cause the coil to snap and you’ll end up making out on the side of the road, unable to last long enough to make it home first. You lay your hand on his thigh as he drives, a spot that has quickly become your favorite to occupy when Clyde’s hands are otherwise full, enjoying the feel of his strong muscles tensing and relaxing as he puts pressure on the gas. Such thick thighs, so full of power, you won’t soon forget how they guided his throbbing length against your folds. These thighs were dangerous, but you couldn’t wait to find out just how much so. Won’t they feel simply incredible when they’re driving his big, thick cock into your dripping heat, slamming against the backs of your own thighs, slapping his big balls into your perineum? You salivated at the thought, becoming increasingly more eager to find out. You respected Clyde’s wishes, you really did, but you didn’t know how much longer you were going to be able to last, and frankly you didn’t know how much longer Clyde himself was going to last either.

Clyde pulls up in front of his trailer and puts the Pontiac in park, meeting your eyes with a tense smile and giving your hand a pat before moving to exit. You do the same, stepping out just as Clyde makes his way around the hood, still taking your hand even though you’re already fully out of the vehicle, and slamming the door shut behind you. Hand in hand you approach the front door of the trailer, only releasing his when he needs it to unlock the door. He pushes the door open and motions you inside, following behind, flicking on the lights as he goes. You step into the living room, turning around to face him. He’s just flicked on the last light when he comes back to meet you, stopping toe to toe. From this distance you have to crane your neck completely up in order to look into his eyes, meeting that honey gaze head on. He swallows, jaw working, watching your face closely, hands at his sides, simply waiting, but with the tension of a jungle cat about to lunge vibrating through him. You bite your lip and lift your hands to his chest, knowing what it is that Clyde is waiting for, knowing he’s looking for that permission from you, and boy do you want to give it. Your hands come to rest delicately on his pecs, digging your nails in ever so gently, getting a firm grasp on the supple flesh, enjoying the feel of it. You lift up on your tip toes, using your hold on him for balance, and stretch yourself toward his invitingly plush lips. Clyde comes crashing down to meet you, the coil finally snapping, his mouth pressing insistently into yours as his arms come up to wrap around you tightly, crushing you to him. The kiss is all clacking teeth and desperately licking tongue, as if Clyde skipped dinner and you’re the meal. You try to take control of the kiss, pulling back a bit, coaxing him to slow down, but he simply chases you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to hold you in place. You gasp in the hot breaths he’s panting out whenever he breaks away, but he’s never away for long, diving back in quickly for more. You struggle to keep up, fingernails now digging into his pecs as you do your best to keep a grasp on reality. You certainly have no fear of falling, not with the way Clyde is holding you so tightly. 

Clyde’s hands roam down your curves, hooking under your thighs to pull you up off of the ground. You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist as best as you can, the broadness of him making that quite difficult, but either way falling doesn’t pose any sort of danger, Clyde’s grip on you is solid and fierce. He begins to walk, you feel the bounce of his steps, breaking the kiss for a moment to check where it is that he’s going, but quickly resuming after finding his confirmation. When you next open your eyes you find yourself in what must be Clyde’s bedroom. It’s very neat, almost sparsely decorated. There’s a shelving unit crowded with books across from what must be a king sized bed, draped in blue and gray bedding. A bedside table sits beside it littered with a stack of even more books, all piled up next to a lamp. The dresser in the corner bears a small tray meant to hold jewelry, a bottle of cologne sitting next to it. But the time for scanning the room has run out as Clyde deposits you onto his bed, following you down. You can’t help but notice how strong his scent is in here, the smell of him enveloping you, only serving to further overwhelm you. Clyde places you down in the center of the bed, your head on his pillows, and keeps his body pressed close to yours as he continues to kiss you, finally slowing down enough to not clack teeth quite so much. His tongue laps the inside of your mouth, tasting every inch, as his hands slowly begin to roam your body once more now that they’re no longer needed to hold you up. You keep your legs wrapped around his waist though, enjoying the way he begins to buck into you, gently at first, although quickly increasing in power and pace. You can feel it already, how hard he is in his jeans, straining against the denim to get to you. And luckily for him, you fully plan on unleashing that straining pillar.

You slip your hands out from between your bodies, reaching instead for the button and fly of his jeans, not having much trouble undoing them. As your fingers work on parting his fly they graze his shaft, eliciting a groan from deep within Clyde’s throat, straight into yours. You push down the waist of his jeans until they crest over his ass, giving you enough room to fish inside of his boxers for his cock. Your fingers wrap tightly around his shaft and Clyde shudders above you, freezing mid-kiss, as if all of his senses shut down in that moment. You use the opportunity to pull him free of his boxers, exposing him to the warm air trapped between your bodies. You tug up towards the head eliciting another moan from Clyde who has given up on attacking your lips for the moment, lost in the feeling of your fingers gripped around his manhood. Clyde’s back arches a bit, just enough to offer some more space between you, and you take the opportunity to begin stroking him. He’s already fully erect, you give a peek below to see how flushed the head is. This isn’t all you had planned tonight though, psyching yourself up for your real mission. 

You release Clyde’s cock and instead push on his shoulders, guiding him to lay back on the bed. Clyde is reluctant at first, opening his eyes to look at you with lust filled confusion, but eventually relents. Once you’ve gotten him prone you settle in between his parted thighs, sitting on your knees, gazing at the proud cock that stands at attention before you. Clyde looks up at you with the adoration of a man coming face to face with a goddess, only further spurning you on. You grip his shaft once more, firmly enough to take his attention from your face, and begin to stroke him. Clyde’s hands are at his sides, but you see the way his fingers dig into the quilt, as if he’s holding on to the Earth lest he spin off of it. Slowly his eyes drift shut, his lips parted, lulled by the rhythmic tugging of his cock. The way he groans when you pull up and over the head of him drives you wild, but you know you can’t continue to do this dry for much longer. You kneel forward, bringing your lips down to just mere inches above his head, holding your breath lest he feel it against his sensitive skin and open his eyes, spoiling the surprise. you lick your lips, bring your fist down to his base, and slide him into your mouth, as far down as you can take him in one go. Clyde gasps, eyes flying open to meet yours, letting out a shuddering groan that reverberates through his body. You smile to yourself, pleased with his reaction, and proceed to bob your head. The groan intensifies, you look up just in time to watch his eyelids flutter, just before you begin to stroke your hand in time with your mouth. Clyde growls at this, his hand shooting up towards your head, brushing his fingers through your hair before fighting to put it back down at his side. You pop off of his cock just long enough to speak, bringing your other hand up to fondle his large balls while you do, “You can put your hand on my head if you want to, Clyde. Don’t be afraid.” Then back down you go, taking as much of him down your throat as you can, stroking his thick shaft and tickling his heavy balls. 

Clyde moans deep from within his chest, his hand shaking as it comes up to rest on the back of your head, just following it as it bobs. Clyde’s expression is completely blissed out, mouth hanging open as he moans with abandon, eyebrows knit together in concentration, eyes rolling back into his head before they slide shut. You eat up this incredible image of him, so lost to pleasure. You’ve drooled all over his cock, thoroughly slicking it up, taking the opportunity to take more of him down your throat. The task is easier said than done though, Clyde’s cock is huge, you can’t even wrap your fingers around the girth of it let alone take it in its entirety down your throat, but you try anyway, gagging on it several times, each time eliciting a guttural growl from Clyde, the fingers laced into your hair on the back of your head tightening.

Clyde’s balls begin to tighten, you know he must be nearing his end, so you go for broke, sliding as much of him down as you can, gagging on his thick length, squeezing his balls gently yet firmly. His hand on the back of your head pushes down just enough to keep you there, just enough to feel the way your throat muscles work at him, trying to swallow around him. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes but you don’t relent, struggling to swallow down his cock. His legs kick out beside you and he moans loudly, “Ohhhh Sw-- Sweetnessss oh fuck, I’m gon—I’m gonn’ cum.” 

You do your best to give him a nod, and stay where you are pressed down onto his shaft, even when his hand relents its pressure. With one final stroke of your hand Clyde lets out a choked moan, cock twitching and balls tensing as he empties his hot cum down your throat. You swallow every drop, only pulling off once his cock has stopped twitching. As you sit back up to meet Clyde’s eyes you give one final swallow and lick your lips, looking like a contented cat who’d just had their fill of a dish of milk. 

“Ohh fuck,” Clyde gasps, working at catching his breath. He sits up, leaning forward to corral you in his grasp, and pulls you up until you’re sprawled across him. Face to face once more, he attacks your lips, kissing and biting, teeth clacking in his fervor. You melt onto him, straddling his waist with your thighs, kissing him back just as fervently. Clyde’s hand finds the hem of your dress and he begins to tug, yanking it up over your hips. You add your own hands to the mix, helping him pull it up and over your head, until you’re left hovering over him in nothing but your bra and panties. But you refuse to be the only one half-dressed, quickly undoing the buttons of Clyde’s button-down, pushing it off of his shoulders. You grab the hem of his undershirt and all but rip it off of him, eagerly running your hands all over the broad expanse of his pale chest once it’s exposed. You lean down, kissing a trail up his sternum, up the column of his throat, up the crest of the scruffy black hair on his chin, until you claim his lips once more. Clyde is breathing hard, you rise and fall with his shallow breaths from your perch on his waist. He splays one large hand at the small of your back and presses down, pushing you as flush to him as he can manage. He then slides that hand up your back to the clasp of your bra, cinching it open. The straps fall off of your shoulders and pool on his chest, you lift up just enough to finish sliding it off, tossing it to the side. 

Clyde breaks away from the kiss, hooking a hand underneath your arm and pulling you further up his body until he’s able to angle his head just enough to reach your breasts. He latches on to your right nipple, scraping his teeth against the stiff peak, as his right hand pulls and tweaks your left nipple. You moan above him, one hand digging into his hair, the other firmly grasping his shoulder. Clyde’s mouth is unrelenting, sucking and biting and licking until you’re bordering on over-sensitive. Then he lets go with a pop and latches on to the other nipple, lavishing it equally. As he works his hand moves to tug at your panties, sliding them over your ass. You help him get them the rest of the way down, kicking them off, now fully naked astride him.

Once your nipples have been thoroughly ravished Clyde hooks his hand under your arm again and begins to pull you up further, “Git’up here Sweetness, want ya ta’ ride m’ face,” he growls, voice heavy with lust. You begin to scramble up him, aiding his efforts, until your aching sex is hovering over his head. Clyde grips your hip with a firm grasp and yanks you down to him, holding your dripping sex steadily to his mouth. He wastes no time diving in, licking up your folds from opening to clit, eliciting a gasp from you that quickly drags out into a moan as his tongue continues to swirl around your clit. He mouths at you, taking your labia between his lips, sucking and nibbling. When he releases them it’s to dive his tongue into your entrance, the wet wiggling muscle eliciting choking moans from your throat. You dig your fingers into Clyde’s hair and grip tightly onto his raven locks, pulling a groan from him. Clyde spears his tongue as deep as it will go, darting it in and out, simulating the one thing you want from him more than anything in this moment.

His tongue leaves your needy hole and finds your clit once more, swirling circles around, up and over until you’re having trouble keeping yourself upright, planting one hand on the wall behind the bed for leverage. Clyde persists, flicking and swirling his tongue until you’re keening and crying, just at the cusp of your orgasm. It’s clear that you’re close, you’re no longer able to even pretend to hold yourself up over him, letting your weight rest down on his mouth, suffocating him with your dripping, pulsing pussy. But if Clyde is uncomfortable he’s making no moves to remedy it, continuing to lick at your clit, burying his mouth in deeper to wrap his lips around the throbbing bud, sucking at it. Your thighs begin to tremble, snapping shut tightly around his head, pressing into his ears. 

“Clyde, oh Clyde, oh Clyde, oh C-Cl—ohhhh!” you cry as the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter. The hand Clyde keeps on your hip is digging in to your flesh with harsh strength, there’s no doubt you’ll have bruises, but the thought barely registers as your mind begins to white out, orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cry out, back bowing as you shake on top of him. When you begin to slump, body now boneless, Clyde pulls himself out from under you, readjusting you as if you’re nothing more than a doll, sliding you down until you’re sprawled against his bare chest once more, before wrapping an arm around your middle and flipping you both over so that you’re laid against the bed.

Clyde lowers himself on top of you and begins to kiss you once more. You taste yourself on his lips, sending a lick of fire up your spine. As your senses return to you fully you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him onto you. All at once it becomes clear that Clyde’s erection has returned, cock prodding your thigh. You shudder with lust, wanting nothing more than to wrap your legs around his waist and let him drive it in to you. In your lust-addled state it seems your legs have decided to take matters into their own hands and do exactly that, even as boneless as they still feel after the orgasm, they manage to raise up and wrap around his waist, anchoring him to you. His large cock is left pressed up against you, flushed head prodding at your entrance, all it would take is one thrust for him to be inside of you. 

Clyde groans, breaking away from the kiss, nuzzling into your neck. He rubs his tip up against your opening, but doesn’t yet penetrate, hand finding your hip again to grip it harshly, holding you completely still as he prods. Another painful groan slips passed his lips as the tip of his cock slots into your entrance, you can feel his thighs begin to shake as he holds himself there. Or perhaps that’s your own hips shaking, the want, the need that your body is screaming with almost unbearable. You whine, trying desperately to move, to nudge him inside of you, but Clyde’s grip is like iron.

There’s a sharp pain in your shoulder as Clyde bites down hard into your flesh, you both cry out from it. Then he pulls away, lifting his head back up to meet your eyes. His expression is wanton, pained with lust, “(Y/N),” he whimpers, “Please, don’ think less of me.”

Breathlessly you reply, “I could never think less of you Clyde.”

He swallows hard, pulling in his lips to bite them before he speaks again, “I jus’ wan’ it to be special, it’s what ya deserve.”

“It’s already special,” you babble, the only coherent thought in your brain telling you to get his cock inside of you before you die, “You make it special. It’s you Clyde, of course it’s special.”

But Clyde shakes his head, eyes full of sorrow, “Jus’ gimme til this weekend, please Sweetness? I promise if ya give me til this weekend I’ll make it perfect for ya, jus like ya deserve.”

It dawns on you then, through the haze of lust, what it is that Clyde is trying to say. He isn’t going to fuck you, he isn’t going to put that big beautiful cock inside of you, and the thought leaves you teary eyed with need. He begins to pull away from you and you grab on tight, trying to keep him against you, “No, no please, please Clyde,” you beg, scrabbling for purchase on the pale, broad expanse of him, “please, please.”

Clyde looks like he’s about to cry too, carefully extricating himself from your grasp, shaking his head, “I’m sorry Sweetness, I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to ya, I promise, it’ll be so good.” He coos as he finally releases himself from your grasp, petting your hair as you beg him, a tear slipping from your eye. You grip his left arm with both hands, trying to keep him close, but Clyde won’t be persuaded. He continues to pet your hair, runs his fingertips over your eyebrows, your cheek bones, your nose, wiping away your tears, until the cloud of lust dissipates from your brain enough for you to form coherent thoughts again, until you calm down enough to stop crying and begging. When your breathing has returned to normal Clyde gives you a kiss, lips locked as he pulls you back up to standing with him, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in tight as he licks and nips at your lips. When he breaks away he takes your face in his hand, looking deeply into your eyes, “I’m sorry Sweetness, I really am. Please just trust me. Do ya trust me?”

You nod, laying your own hand on top of his, “Of course I trust you Clyde, we can wait until this weekend.”

Clyde nods hesitantly, “Thank ya Sweetness,” he whispers, kissing the tip of your nose, “Now let’s get ya back to Duck Tape to pick up yer car before my will power runs out,” giving you one last kiss before turning to help you pick your clothing up off of the floor. You both get dressed, each helping the other find strewn articles, until you’re once more the way you were when you arrived, although certainly more mussed. Clyde leads you out to the Pontiac, helping you inside, all the while looking like he’d just signed his own death warrant. 

The ride back to Duck Tape is quiet, neither of you really knowing what to say. With the haze of lust gone, you understand. You know how important it has been to Clyde that penetrative sex wait, and until now you haven’t given him a hard time about it. But just now, you definitely lost your cool, and you feared the effect it may have had on him. If the morose expression is any clue, he likely thinks you’re unhappy with him.

That simply won’t do.

He pulls into Duck Tape’s parking lot, coasting into a spot next to your car, putting the Pontiac into park and getting out to get your door for you. As he does, you take both of his hands into yours, and look right up into his eyes, speaking with confidence, “I will wait until whenever you’re ready Clyde. I’m sorry I got so emotional before, but I promise you, I will wait. When you feel the time is right, then that’s when we’ll do it. Alright?”

Clyde looks stunned, eyes wide as he takes in what you’ve said. Then all at once his entire body relaxes, and he leans in to kiss you deeply, taking your face into his hand. When he pulls away you’re both breathless, but a smile is tugging at his lips, “Yer amazin’ Sweetness, ya really are. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Clyde.”


	21. When I get lonely and I'm sure I've had enough, She sends her comfort comin' in from above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good evening, Clyde,” you reply, closing the distance between you to peek up on tip-toes, grasp him by the shirt collar and kiss him. Clyde hums into it, wrapping his arms around your middle, pulling you tight to him. He stands up straight and takes you right off of the ground, coming up with him. You erupt into a fit of giggles that Clyde eats up, not allowing them to break the kiss. When you finally do pull away for air, you’re grinning at eachother like children, Clyde even letting loose a little chuckle. You lean in quickly to peck the corner of his mouth, right over his dimple, hoping kissing it will keep it on his face for a while. Clyde looks good happy, happy suits him. Effectively egged on, Clyde twirls in place, Spinning you around. You kick your feet out so that your shins are parallel to the ground and squeal, and Clyde all-out laughs in response, “Ya like that, Sweetness?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "Radar Love" by Golden Earring
> 
> 6500+ words and many hours later.... I didn't proof read this lol I just needed to get it out into the ether before it killed me. I hope it's good.

Clyde knew he was running out of time.

It wouldn’t be much longer before you gave up on waiting for him to be ready, he knew he was pushing his luck. 

It wasn’t as if he thought you didn’t want him, that much was obvious, even to him. The image of you begging for his dick, naked and slick and needy, was going to be engrained on the insides of his eyelids for the rest of his life. The temptation had been unspeakable, he had been absolutely throbbing for you. It would have been so easy to just slide home, stuff himself inside of you, feel how tight and wet and warm he knows you are for him. 

But it wasn’t right. 

Clyde had spent all of this time taking it slow, mentally preparing for things to go exactly as he wanted them to, not willing to settle for anything less than the perfection he had planned for. You were an angel, a goddess, a gift from Heaven he surely didn’t deserve, who for some inexplicable reason had chosen to occupy your valuable time with him. The least he could do to show his appreciation was to make your first time with him as special as possible. And perhaps, well, he hated to admit it, but he was a bit of a control freak. Last night certainly took every ounce of control he’d had left, but he’d used it nonetheless, reminding himself that he had a plan for his perfect princess. A plan that would make all of the hard work worth it. A plan that would hopefully result in you screaming his name as you came apart around his cock, having just had the best orgasm of your life, all courtesy of him. 

Clyde wasn’t a bragging man, not at all. But Clyde did know two things for certain: he had a very large cock, and he knew how to use it. He suspected you liked his cock, if your attentions to it were any indication, but if any doubt still happened to linger in your mind as to whether or not his dick was the one you should choose to spend the rest of your days with, this night was going to be his opportunity to prove it. Prove himself. 

Clyde decided that perhaps it was time to enact his plan. He’d made you wait long enough, and after the way you broke down the night prior, while it did make him even harder than he’d like to admit, it also made him nervous. He couldn’t risk blowing this with you, you were too important to him, losing you would gut him.

So Clyde decided that tomorrow, on your mutual Sunday off, he would put his plan into action.

~.~.~.~.~

You were loathe to admit the true extent of the headache you were sporting on this unbearably beautiful Sunday morning, not willing to accept the fact that hangovers were only getting worse as time went on. 

The night prior had been worth it though, a Saturday spent out with your partner in crime, Mellie. Under the guise of celebrating you hooking up with her brother she pumped you full of as many drinks as she could get her hands on in between the many dances you shared, bopping and grinding to the beats that the DJ put out. You don’t recall the smile leaving your face from the minute you stepped out of her car, until the minute she dropped you off at home, too drunk to even walk up to your front door without stumbling. 

That smile was long gone at this moment though, replaced with a pained grimace as you attempt to sit up in bed, the need to pee outweighing the need to be horizontal. 

You took your time nursing your condition, not in any rush to get the day going. Luckily you had planned ahead for this with Clyde the day prior over breakfast at Sip. He’d asked to see you last night, had asked you if you’d come keep him company at the bar again, but while it pained you to turn him down, you were quick to explain why. Clyde understood, of course he did, Mellie was his sister afterall, he wouldn’t dare push you to break plans with his own blood in favor of him. But you still saw it, that little flicker of disappointment in his honey colored eyes, even if he hadn’t meant for you to see it, and it cut you deep all the same. 

The truth was undeniable: you two were borderline inseparable. And while that wasn’t necessarily the worst thing in the world, it was also not the best habit to form. It was healthy for couples to spend time apart, even if they maybe didn’t always want to. Better to set the precedent now, break the habit before it forms, even if it broke your heart a little to tell Clyde ‘no’. Even if you spent the entire night with him in the back of your mind, wondering what he was doing, what he was thinking, if he was okay. Rationally you knew he was, Clyde was a big boy, he could take care of himself just fine, but it didn’t stop you from wondering if he missed you, if he needed you, just a little itsy bitsy tiny bit.

It wasn’t until well past noon that you finally began to get ready, feeling stable enough to do so. The plan was dinner and a movie, and you giggled to yourself as you wondered if this was going to become your MO as a couple. It was certainly something you both enjoyed, that and books, so you didn’t mind. And you figured that as time went on, you’d discover even more things you enjoyed doing together. You had plenty of time to figure it all out, giddy at that prospect alone. Clyde was undoubtedly the best thing to happen to you in a long time, there was no denying it. 

And something told you the feeling was mutual.

~.~.~.~.~

At just around 5:30 you hear Clyde’s Pontiac pulling up outside, and rush to grab what you need to go and meet him. Your makeup is on point, your hair is done (not as good as Mellie does it, but you tried), and you’re sporting a blouse and skirt combo that screams ‘sophisticated sexy’, you’re ready to knock this man’s socks off. In true Clyde fashion he’s already out of his car and coming around to your front door when you fling it open to greet him, catching him off-guard. His expression is laced with nerves, lips in a full pout that you recognize all too well, but as soon as he catches your eyes his entire face softens.

“Good evenin’, Sweetness,” Clyde nods as he walks up to meet you, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Good evening, Clyde,” you reply, closing the distance between you to peek up on tip-toes, grasp him by the shirt collar and kiss him. Clyde hums into it, wrapping his arms around your middle, pulling you tight to him. He stands up straight and takes you right off of the ground, coming up with him. You erupt into a fit of giggles that Clyde eats up, not allowing them to break the kiss. When you finally do pull away for air, you’re grinning at eachother like children, Clyde even letting loose a little chuckle. You lean in quickly to peck the corner of his mouth, right over his dimple, hoping kissing it will keep it on his face for a while. Clyde looks good happy, happy suits him. Effectively egged on, Clyde twirls in place, Spinning you around. You kick your feet out so that your shins are parallel to the ground and squeal, and Clyde all-out laughs in response, “Ya like that, Sweetness?”

“Yes!” you gasp out, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, leveraging yourself higher so that Clyde has to tilt his head back to meet your eyes. His are crinkled at the edges, scrunched up in merriment as he watches the joy filter across your face, spinning you around once more just to pull another squeal out of you. Slowly coming to a stop, he cranes his neck up to capture your lips, drinking down the sounds of your happiness. You melt into him, your squeals and giggles slowly softening into little moans of pleasure as his tongue presses into your wanting mouth. Lip-locked, regardless of the world around you, Clyde holds you close, keeping your feet off of the ground as he tastes you, drinks his fill of you, until your need for air has you pulling away with a gasp. He already sees the signs of irritation beginning to form around your delicate lips from where his rough facial hair has scraped you, and a little pulse of pride curls in his gut at the sight. He never thought of himself as the possessive type, but knowing that he’s about to take you out to a fancy restaurant, where other people are going to see you and know that you’d let him kiss you, it does something to him. Before he can think twice he leans in and captures the soft flesh of your shoulder between his teeth, biting and sucking tenderly. 

You moan above him, one of your hands burying itself in his hair as he worries at your shoulder. You know what it is that he’s doing, he’s marking you, the thrill of it shooting down your spine. Clyde, your handsome Clyde, is making sure everyone you encounter tonight knows who you belong to. You… you belong to him, the thought still manages to leave you bereft. This wonderful man, the kindest, softest, most thoughtful man you’ve ever met… he’s yours. Not only that, but he wants everyone to know it. You shiver at the incredible feeling, and when Clyde finally releases your skin with a pop you dip to reclaim his mouth, nibbling at his full bottom lip until it’s undoubtedly swollen. 

Clyde groans deep within his chest, the satisfaction of giving you the beautiful little bruise that’s beginning to purple right where everyone will be able to see it, mixed with the way you’re nipping at his bottom lip, has his dick filling out uncomfortably quickly. He still has plans for you, an entire night that he’s taken the time to prepare, he can’t be cumming in his pants before he even gets you in the car. Reluctantly he lowers you back down to the ground, gently setting you on your feet, but not yet releasing you. He keeps you close to him as he speaks, “I’d love ta stand here and kiss ya all night, Sweetness, but I got us a reservation in Charlottesville that I don’ want us ta miss.”

You rest your hands on his broad chest, head tilted back to stare into his beautiful bronze eyes, “A reservation in Charlottesville? How fancy of you Clyde, are you trying to impress me or something?”

Clyde smirks proudly in response, “Wait until ya see the place, then you’ll know fer sure jus’ how much I’m tryin’ ta impress ya.”

You giggle at his antics, giving him a pinch, “I was just kidding silly, you don’t have to impress me, I already think you’re the bee’s knees.” 

But Clyde shakes his head, cupping your face in one large hand as he leans down to steal another kiss, “Lemme take care’a ya, I like doin’ it.”

You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that you’re independent, that you aren’t looking to become a burden, but you cannot deny the little voice that whispers in your head about how pleasant it feels to have someone take an interest in your well-being. It’s satisfying, in a deeply gratifying way, to know that there is another human being who not only wants to see you thrive, but who also wants to help you achieve it. So instead of fighting him on it, instead of heeding that knee-jerk reaction to say no… you just nod into the kiss, allowing yourself to accept the gesture for what it is: a kind man wanting to do something nice for the lady he cares about.

He breaks away with a quiet smile, still cupping your face gently as his thumb caresses your cheek, “I promise ya (Y/N), ya won’t regret choosin’ me. Ya won’t.”

“I don’t, and I won’t,” you smile back, knowing that choosing Clyde has already proven to be one of the best decisions you’ve ever made, second only to choosing to move to West Virginia in the first place, in order to have met Clyde at all, “Clyde, I won’t ever regret it, the same way I hope you won’t ever regret choosing me.”

Clyde is quick to shake his head at that, eyebrows knit to convey the seriousness of his statement, “It wasn’t even a choice, Sweetness. I’d hoped that you’d want me, and I knew that if ya did, I was yers. Simple as that.”

The sentiment he has just conveyed, to think about how much Clyde has wanted you from the very beginning, brings a tear to your eye, but you do your best to swallow it down, not wanting to get him concerned. It isn’t tears of sadness, not by a long shot. They’re more akin to tears from being overwhelmed, it’s difficult to believe just how much this man cares about you, has cared about you, after having gone what feels like your whole life without ever having experienced something like this before. 

You grip his shirt and pull yourself up, whispering into his lips, “Thank you, Clyde,” before kissing him once more, soft and sweet, then pulling away from him completely to head to his car. 

Clyde doesn’t hesitate to follow, swooping in to open the passenger side door for you before making his way around to join you in the car. 

~.~.~.~.~

Dinner at Fleurie is delicious, and certainly unexpected. Clyde didn’t strike you as the type to appreciate French cuisine, but then again Clyde hasn’t stopped surprising you since the moment you first met, so perhaps you shouldn’t be all that shocked at his choice. He is nothing short of an utter gentleman throughout the entire affair, as he always is: holding doors, pulling out your chair, tucking your hand into his arm whenever you’re walking. More than once you watch his eyes stray to what must be a pretty little hickey on your shoulder, admiring his work. You make sure your blouse doesn’t obstruct the view, just as pleased as he is to show off the mark of ownership, especially to any women who may be sneaking peeks at your man that you just so happen to catch in the act.

After you’ve both had your fill, Clyde brings you back to his place, the sun having just begun to set. As he puts the Pontiac into park you sense a bit of nervous energy rolling off of him, but you don’t think too much of it. You two are about to be alone at his place, and you two have certainly gotten up to some mischief recently, maybe he’s just thinking about how he’s going to stave off penetration this time around. You mentally steel yourself at that thought, remembering with embarrassment how you begged him Friday night, not wanting to put him in that position again. You would wait for Clyde, no matter how difficult it felt at times. Clyde was worth the wait.

The two of you enter the trailer together, Clyde moving to flick on the lights in what is quickly becoming a very dark space as the sun dips down past the mountains. He seems to be a bit lost in himself, moving around in a daze, so you stop him in his tracks and take his hands, getting him to meet your eyes, “Need any help? I can get the popcorn ready while you set up the projector, if you want.” 

His eyebrows wrinkle in confusion before rising in surprise, “No, no darlin’ don’t worry ‘bout that, I jus’ gotta grab somethin’ from my bedroom an’ then I’ll help ya make the popcorn, alright?”

“Alright, if you insist, but it really wouldn’t be any trouble,” you reply, brow furrowing in worry, why does he seem so nervous? When was the last time he was this nervous around you? Did you do more damage than you thought on Friday? Guilt begins to eat at you as Clyde pulls away to head down the hall to his bedroom, disappearing inside and closing the door behind him. You stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room, wringing your hands in concern. You had to talk to him, you had to ask him if you’d crossed the line on Friday. Clearly something was bothering him, and you’d be heartbroken if it was anything you’d done. You had to reiterate that you were alright with waiting for him to be ready, even if your lust-clouded brain begged differently. But just as you were about to march down the hall and prostrate yourself at his feet, his deep voice called out to you from behind the bedroom door, “Sweetness, darlin’, can ya come ‘ere for a sec’!”

You all but ran down the hall, eager to begin your apologies and reassurances, but words died on your lips as you swung open the door.

The light in the room is off, but the room is far from dark. The ceiling is criss-crossed in fairy lights, just like the ones he has hung in the backyard. Every open surface holds an electric pillar candle, flickering softly in the dimness of the room. the bed appears to be strewn with rose petals, settled atop brand new dark satin sheets. The books that once sat atop his nightstand have been replaced with a bouquet of roses, the vase surrounded by a ring of electric tea-light candles. And there, in the center of the room, is your Clyde. His eyes are wide as he watches you closely, lips pulled in tightly like he’s holding his breath. You realize all at once that you’re holding your breath too, so you release his name into the charged air, “Clyde… this is incredible.”

But Clyde doesn’t breathe yet, squaring his shoulders and puffing up his chest, “(Y/N), if you give yerself to me, I promise I’ll make it wonderful fer ya. I’ll worship ya like you deserve, I won’t stop ‘til yer properly satisfied. I’ll be so good to ya, from now ‘til ya don’t want me no more, if you—If you want this, if ya want _me_.”

He’s holding himself with determination, standing proud and tall, but even in the dim light you can see the way his eyes swim with worry, a small part of him still afraid you’ll reject him. You spend a moment thinking about how best to convey your response, before your body begins to advance, meeting him toe to toe in the middle of the room. his hands automatically raise to plant themselves on your hips, and your hands reach up to cradle his face, “Clyde Logan, I want _all_ of you, now and forever. Do you understand?”

Clyde gazes deeply into your eyes before he begins to blink rapidly, shifting his gaze away as his arms snake around you, pulling you to him and pressing your cheek into his chest until you’re unable to see his face. But the way his body shakes, the way his breath hitches, is enough to tell you why he doesn’t want you to see him right now. You loop one arm around his neck and slide the other around to his back, rubbing circles into the broad muscles as they quiver and hitch beneath your hand. Tears of empathy slide down your cheeks, but you try to keep your breathing steady, you know it’ll only make him think the worst if he hears you now. He won’t realize that the tears are over how heartbreaking it is to know that someone as lonely and broken as you exists in this world, but also how joyful to know that you’ve now found eachother. Some day soon you’ll explain yourself, but right now is not the time, so instead you focus on schooling your breath as you continue to soothe your beautifully broken boy, telling him with your body what can’t come out of your mouth at this moment: I’m here for you. I care about you. _You are not alone._

It seems to work, his breathing evening out as his grip begins to relax, so you begin to pull back slowly and deliberately, giving him the opportunity to wipe his face before you tilt your head up to meet his eyes. There’s no denying what just happened, honey eyes puffy and rimmed red, but you don’t call attention to it, instead opting to smile softly, caressing fingertips down the plains of his face. He leans into your touch without hesitation, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he seems to steady himself, bolstered by the warmth of your palm.

When they reopen, it’s with new determination, one arm locking securely across your back as the other slides up to cup the back up your head, tilting it to his desired angle as he lowers himself to claim your mouth. The kiss is slow, heavy, and heated, charged with a need that you can all but taste on his tongue as it slides past your lips to join yours. You take your time with this, tongues dancing together as hands begin to roam and grasp. The hand that had been cradling your head travels down your spine, finding the hem of your blouse and gently tugging it upward. You release your hold on him to aid his questing hand, guiding the blouse up and over your head, only breaking the kiss to remove the offending article before lips are locked once more.

Next comes the skirt, three hands working to shimmy it over your hips, stepping out of it once it drops to the floor in a heap. His shirt follows, thick fingers clumsy with nerves undo buttons while two dainty hands grasp and pull the hem up from where it was previously tucked into pants. The undershirt is ripped off of his own back with little grace, joining the other clothes on the floor. You struggle to unlatch his belt buckle, but not for long, his large palm guiding your grip until it falls open with a clank. Your slender fingers work to pop open his button and unzip his fly, before three sets of hands are pushing his pants over his hips and down his thighs. 

You’re both left in nothing but your underthings, Clyde finally breaking the kiss to appreciate the view before him. You are a vision in lace, nipples visible through the delicate material, already peaked in anticipation. His eyes rake your form once more before he takes a deep breath, and steps forward to scoop you up in a bridal carry. You squeal and giggle, quickly latching onto his neck, gazing up at him with your bottom lip tugged between your teeth. Clyde smiles at you warmly, carrying you over to the bed, cradling you to his chest for a moment before carefully laying you down atop the sheets.

He’s quick to climb upon the bed and join you, straddling your hips as he gazes down at the beautiful vision you make. A delicate touch skates down the side of your face, your neck, following the line of your collar bone to your shoulder, pulling down your bra strap as it crests your shoulder and continues down your arm, following the path he’s created all the way down to your hand, lifting it up and bringing it to his lips so he can lay a kiss across your knuckles. He carefully returns it to your side before repeating the motions on your other side, until both bra straps sit limp against your upper arms, giving him just enough slack to pull down the cups and release your supple breasts. He leans in then, wrapping his plush lips around a nipple to suckle gently, plucking at the other with calloused fingertips. He nips at the engorged little bud, pulling a gasp from you, your hands leaving your sides to roam the expanse of his pale back, one digging deep into the strands of his hair. As he nips a little harder at your aching nipple you give his hair a tug, eliciting a groan from deep within his chest. He tweaks the other nipple a little harder in response, and your rake your fingernails up his back, pulling forth yet another groan. 

He pops off of the swollen nipple and immediately latches on to the other, suckling and nipping until it resembles its partner, all the while groaning at the sensations of his hair being tugged and his back being raked. Once your breasts have been thoroughly attended he begins to slide down the length of your body, moving himself to kneel astride you as he slowly pulls your panties over your hips, baring you to him inch by painful inch. Once they have been slid fully down your legs he rearranges himself, carefully parting your thighs as he settles himself between them. He doesn’t stop sliding down the bed until his face is inches from your entrance, already dripping with anticipation. He spreads your legs open a bit further, enough to accommodate the wide breadth of him, taking one quivering thigh and resting it over his shoulder.

his mechanical hand grasps hold of your thigh, while the other spreads open your labia, baring everything to him. You squirm in embarrassment, but he holds you steady, clucking his tongue and shaking his head as he meets your eyes, “Don’ be embarrassed, Sweetness, you’re beautiful. I jus’ wanted to get a good look at ya, that’s all.” 

But the encouragement, while heartfelt, doesn’t calm the knot in your stomach, and so you stay propped up on your elbows, watching him as he leans in to run a hot stripe from entrance to clitoris. You gasp at the feeling, so he quickly dives in for more. His tongue feels wonderful, tracing rings around your entrance, dipping inside to try and breach the clenching muscle. Traveling back up to your clit, swirling around and over it, sending your head tipping and your eyes rolling back with a moan. His tongue explores every crease, every fold, every inch, lapping and tasting like a man starved. His lips press against you and he mouths at you, the sensation heady, until those lips wrap around your throbbing clit and begin to suck. That sensation sends you sprawling, dropping from your elbows to lay flat against the bed, hips lifting as you scramble for purchase. 

One thick finger begins to prod at your entrance, dipping a fingertip in and out of you tentatively before slowly easing inside. The stretch feels lovely, and even in this state you know it’s surprising how full just one finger already has you feeling. His tongue and lips focus their efforts on your clit as he slowly works you open, the probing finger eventually being joined by another, equally careful and slow in its entrance until you’re feeling the burn of the intrusion deep inside of you. He thrusts his fingers slowly and steadily, working a rhythm that has your hips lifting in an attempt to speed him up, but he pulls away from your pussy with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry Sweetness but I gotta go slow. If I don’t get ya ready fer me I’m gonna hurt ya.” Before latching on to your clit once more, pinning your hips down with his mechanical hand. 

You groan in frustration, the slow build up feeling more like torture than pleasure, but Clyde doesn’t relent, giving you a stern look before going back to his work. He continues to lick and suckle at your clit, drawing you nearer and nearer to climax, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter with each pass. The fingers inside of you are joined by a third, and yet again you’re left surprised at just how thick his fingers are, how much they stretch you, these three fingers are thicker than some of the dicks you’ve taken, but then again you’ve seen Clyde’s cock, known it intimately, it’s no average dick. Clyde is enormous, and as badly as you want him inside of you, you know he’s correct in preparing you. Your lust addled brain doesn’t want to hear that though, and instead it forces your hips up again, bucking feebly into his digits. Clyde growls in frustration, pulling off of your clit to grit out, “Behave yerself,” before pressing your hips back down onto the bed and resuming his work. You whine, high and needy, hands reaching out to grab for him, popping up on one elbow so that you’re able to tangle your fingers in his hair. You pet at him, as if coaxing him to give you what you want, but Clyde is unphased, maintaining his slow and steady rhythm as he abuses your clit.

You’re so, _so_ close, the tightness in your core almost painful with how badly you need to climax, forcing your breath to hitch and a tear to slip down your cheek. Clyde watches it all happen, giving your hip a reassuring squeeze before crooking the fingers inside of you, pressing and rubbing until you keen, knowing then that he found the spot he was looking for. He sucks on your clit with renewed vigor, pressing and rubbing your front wall until your back arches clean off of the bed, and you cum hard with a cry, soaking his hand and chin. He works you through it, only letting up when you hiss with overstimulation. He pulls himself away and sits back up on his knees, gazing down at you. 

You’re breathing hard, looking back at him with lust-heavy eyes, “Please,” you whimper, “Please, Clyde.”

Clyde swallows hard and gives you a nod, “Alright Sweetness,” he says as he positions himself at your dripping entrance.

Clyde’s cock is even larger than you remember, thicker than what your hand can close around, at least 9 inches in length, so heavy with its own weight that even fully erect it’s unable to stand straight up. Clyde looks to the nightstand, quickly shifting to reach for the drawer, yanking it open to grab something before coming back to rest between your spread open thighs. It’s a condom, you realize, as he rips open the little golden wrapper and begins to work it down his length. Do they even make condoms for guys as big as him? Apparently so, you think, as he grasps his now covered dick at the base, pressing the tip to your entrance. He swirls it around in your juices, coating the head in them, before slowly beginning to ease himself inside.

You can’t help but gasp, even after three of those fat fingers nothing could have prepared you for this, and as he catches the head inside of you he drops down onto an elbow, quickly capturing your lips. He presses in a little further and you whine at the stretch, Clyde pulling away to look at you with concern, “Are ya alright, Sweetness? Is it too much?” But you quickly shake your head no, tilting up to catch his lips once more, snaking a hand down his side to tug at his hips. He pulls back only to press in further, thrusting a little to coat himself in more of your arousal, repeating the motion until slowly, slowly, every last inch of him makes its way inside. When the base of his cock finally meets your skin, he stops, pulling away from your kiss to breathe heavily, with pain in his voice he rasps, “God, you’re so tight. So fuckin’ tight. Sweetness, yer tight lil’ pussy’s stranglin’ me.”

You are stretched farther than you’ve ever been stretched before, never having ever been so filled. The pain of it subsides quickly, replaced with an overwhelming need for friction. Breathless, you reply, “Please move, Clyde, _please_ , I need to feel you.”

Clyde curses, pupils blown wide as he stares into your eyes, before flexing his hips to pull himself out of you to the tip of his cockhead, “I got whatcha need Sweetness, don’ worry. I’ll take care a’ ya,” before sliding back in with a grunt.

You let out a shattering moan, nails digging deeply into his shoulders as you brace from the impact. Clyde watches your every expression, drinking it in as he pulls back out in preparation, “Ya better hang on tight,” he smirks, drunk on lust, before plowing back inside of you, sheathing himself fully. He begins to set a pace, fast enough to punch the breath out of your lungs but still somehow slow enough to feel the drag every time he pulls himself out. Clyde grunts and groans with every thrust, shaggy hair falling into his face, obscuring his eyes, leaving you now with only peeks of those blown out pupils as they bore down on you. 

Your moans hit higher and higher crescendos as his thrusts pick up in pace, and just when you think it couldn’t feel any better, he sits back on his heels, lifts up your legs and props them up on his shoulders. This time when he thrusts into you the angle he hits has you crying out, overwhelmed with stimulation. He tilts his hips and drives in harder, sweat sliding down his temples and splashing onto your stomach as he thrusts into you faster, harder, his cock hitting you so deeply inside that it feels like he’s pushing into your cervix. You wail at the feeling, barely able to keep your eyes open any longer, the only comprehensible thought left in your head being how quickly you’re about to come apart if he continues like this, “Cl—Clyde, oh Cly—de, Clyyyy—de, oh fu—ck Clyde,” you cry, sliding one hand down your body to play with your swollen clit as you entreat him.

Clyde pushes himself forward against the slight resistance of your legs, until his left forearm plants down next to your head, propping him up over you, practically folding you in half. The leverage your legs offer takes most of the pressure of his weight off of his arm, allowing his right hand to roam free, and he takes advantage to tweak a nipple before pulling your feverishly rubbing hand aware from your clit. 

“This is mine,” he growls, licking his thumb before using it to take over the job you’d been doing, “lemme make my girl cum.” You throw your head back with a moan and let him do just that, his dick hammering deep inside of you, striking that special spot over and over again. His thumb running circles around your swollen clit, winding up the coil in your core. You feel the tension rising, like a tea kettle about to boil, and in much the same fashion you scream out as explodes. Your back, even pressed into the mattress by his weight as it is, does it best to bow up toward him. Your eyes scrunch tightly closed, but even if they’d been wide open nothing but white light fills your vision. One hand fists the sheets while the other digs nails into his thick thigh with enough force to break skin. And through it all, Clyde doesn’t relent, a stream of filthy praise dripping from his lips as he fucks you through your orgasm, “FUCK! Oh f-fuck, Sweetness, God, amazing, you f-feel amazing, I can feel ya squeezin’ me, s-so tight, fuck yer so t-tight, oh fuck, I’m gonna—fuck, FUCK!”

Clyde’s thrusts become more erratic as pleasure begins to overtake him, and you manage to open your eyes in time to see the way his face screws up with it, completely overwhelmed. His right hand plants itself down next to your head as he thrusts harder, but his sense of rhythm is gone and you know this must be it for him. One last shred of your coherent brain whispers out, “Cum for me—Clyde-- please.” Clyde gasps sharply, then does exactly as you asked, pushing himself in to the hilt before releasing with a guttural groan. 

He stays lodged deep inside, even as his cock ceases twitching, even as his arms begin to shake from the effort of holding himself above you, even as his breath shudders out of him. Slowly, carefully, you slide your legs off of his shoulders and wrap them around his hips, keeping him inside of you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer, and he follows, letting his arms wrap around you instead of supporting his weight, until your chests are flush together and his face is buried in the crook of your neck. He’s heavy, it knocks the wind out of you to have him resting so fully on top of you like this, but breathing is suddenly much less important than holding your man close. You pet his hair and rub his back, feeling as his breathing evens out underneath your fingertips. 

Eventually he rolls you both over so that you’re now lying on top of him, and he lets his head fall back onto the mattress so that he can once again meet your eyes. His expression is hopeful as he searches your face, and even as tired and wrung out as you are, you smile at him, satisfaction clearly on display. Clyde grins, crooked teeth on full display, hair falling back to expose his big ears, and all you can think about is how sweet he looks, how happy.

Your eyelids begin to droop, thoroughly worn out by the night’s activities, and Clyde takes notice. With a level of care that might be shown to a porcelain doll, he arranges you on the bed, sliding out from underneath you to stand up and remove his condom. He leaves the room, presumably to clean himself up, and returns some time later to scoop you up and bring you to the bathroom as well. He waits outside as you weakly stumble on unstable legs to relieve yourself and wash up a bit, being scooped up once more as you open the door. 

Clyde carefully lays you back down atop the bed, arranging the sheets around you before sliding in himself, pulling your back tightly to his chest. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake you, between the exhaustion in your muscles and the warmth of his body, the safety of his arms, but just as you’re about to fall over the edge completely you think you hear his deep baritone mumble, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the night isn't over, I just couldn't make this chapter any longer. I will also proof read it at some point.


	22. And if you say the word, I could stay with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re jolted out of sleep by an arm squeezing you too tightly around the middle and legs kicking out behind you. Disoriented by the sudden waking, your brain reels to remember where you are, who you’re with, what happened. The powerful legs kick out again, and someone whimpers pitifully into your hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "When I'm 64" by The Beatles
> 
> I hope this makes up for me not updating for like... two weeks. A little hurt/comfort, a little nasty sex, it's all in a day's work.
> 
> Please mind the tags, you might find some of this chapter's content to be triggering.

You’re jolted out of sleep by an arm squeezing you too tightly around the middle and legs kicking out behind you. Disoriented by the sudden waking, your brain reels to remember where you are, who you’re with, what happened. The powerful legs kick out again, and someone whimpers pitifully into your hair.

_Clyde!_

It all floods back to you in a crashing wave: dinner at Fleurie, coming back to Clyde’s place for a movie, but then he called you into his bedroom, and—

Rose petals, candles, Clyde asking you to—

“Clyde,” you whisper, reaching a hand back behind yourself to find his face, petting him gently. Those tree trunk arms of his are squeezing the air right out of your lungs, holding you tight enough to bruise. His legs kick out again and you do your best to wrap your own around his, entangle them together.

“Clyde, honey,” you call, running your fingers over the exposed planes of his face, you can feel the way he’s all scrunched up, you want to turn around and kiss him awake, but he’s holding you too tightly. 

“Clyde, baby wake up,” you entreat again, still soft, still calm, if he’s having a nightmare and you don’t want to scare the daylights out of him.

Third time must have been the charm, because Clyde jolts awake, releasing you completely and sitting up fully, breathing heavily. You sit up as well, finally able to turn and face him, settling on your knees beside him, “You’re okay,” you whisper, placing a gentle hand on his arm, “it was just a nightmare.”

Clyde looks at you with wild eyes, there isn’t any recognition, not of your words, not even of your face, not at first, at least. He stares at you with wide, unseeing eyes, mouth open as he labors to catch his breath, and then all at once he crumples. His hand comes up to cradle his forehead as his head falls, hair sweeping down in a curtain of midnight. His shoulders begin to shake, and the soft sounds of sobs filter out from behind the shield of his hair.

Tentatively, so as not to spook him further, you run a calming hand up and down his bicep, cooing reassurance, “It’s okay, you’re okay, everything is alright,” when he doesn’t pull away you take it as a sign to proceed, straddling his thighs to crawl into his lap. One hand threads through his hair to cradle the back of his head, while the other slides across his shoulders, moving to rub his back in slow circles. He’s still covering his face, still pulled a bit away from you, but as you scratch at his scalp soothingly it begins to lull his head forward.

His forehead connects with your shoulder, and with a shaky breath he drops his hand, pressing his face into your chest and curling his arms around your body. He shudders, a particularly harsh sob rattles out of him, but then he settles in. 

You continue to coo and shush him for what feels like an eternity until he finally stops shaking, finally stops crying, finally starts to breathe normally again. But even once he does, he doesn’t move, doesn’t lift his head, just keeps holding you tightly in his lap with his face pressed into your chest.

Clyde takes a deep breath, voice cracking as he croaks out, “-’m sorry.”

You’re shaking your head before the words can even come out, “Don’t apologize, why are you apologizing?”

His hand clutches your side tightly, but you feel it trembling all the same, “-‘cause— I woke ya up. With-- _this_.”

“You don’t have to apologize for having a nightmare, Clyde,” you whisper into his mop of sable hair, leaving a kiss to punctuate your sentence.

But he shakes his head, “This is why—ever since then, I don’t—because _this_ happens, and—“ he’s getting frustrated with himself, unable to articulate the way he wants to, but you can read in between the lines. 

Did someone actually chastise him for having PTSD, or is Clyde just being too hard on himself? The thought that someone could have made him feel bad for something he can’t control sets your blood boiling, but it is quickly cooled by the way he nuzzles into you, now shaking like a leaf in your arms.

“Clyde, can I ask you something?”

He nods.

You swallow thickly, a tiny bit of you fearing the rejection, another part wondering if you’re overstepping, but most of all you’re just hoping to help, “Did having me here with you help?”

Clyde goes still, and with a slight nod he brokenly answers, “Yes.”

Immediately your brain is assaulted with the scene you just beheld, playing out before you, except this time you aren’t there. You see Clyde, sweating and shaking and crying and—and _alone_. Dealing with this all on his own, because he’s too scared to be a burden to anyone else. You must have gone stiff, as you got lost in your terrible thought, because when you come back to reality Clyde is picking up his head to finally meet your eyes once more. He looks tired, and terribly sad, but also… 

he looks a little hopeful.

Your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs carefully brushing away his tears, combing the hair out of his eyes, until he’s no longer hidden from you. You place a small kiss on the tip of his nose and give him a gentle smile, “Then I’ll be here more often. As often as you want me.”

His bottom lip begins to tremble as his eyebrows knit together, and in a surprising twist he lets out a laugh. It’s painful and breathless, but it’s a laugh all the same, mirthful expression desperately trying to pull out from his sorrow, “If ya leave it up ta’ me it’ll be every night, Sweetness.”

You can’t help but smile back, wanting so badly for him to feel better, to feel comforted, to know that you’re here for him, “Who says I have a problem with that?”

But rather than being met with a witty retort, Clyde’s expression turns serious, sorrowful, “Don’—Don’ _tease_ me like that, darlin’, _please_ …”

You run your fingers over the creases in his brow, trying to smooth them out, smooth away the worry, as you gather yourself up to deliver your answer, meeting him with an equally serious gaze, “I’m not teasing.”

Clyde blinks in surprise, not quite believing what he’s heard, opening his mouth to say something but unable to find the words.

So you find his words for him, “If you want me here, I’ll be here. I gave myself to you, Clyde, remember? I’m yours.”

A tear slips down his cheek, so you lean in quickly to kiss him before more have a chance to fall. He melts into the kiss, arms pulling you in until every bit of you is flush with his body.

When you break apart for air, he stares at you like you’re some kind of angel, full of wonder and awe, and the words tumble out of his mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Clyde,” you don’t even have to think about it, there is no hesitation. You love this man, have loved him since the day you met him, nothing has ever felt more right.

Clyde looks overwhelmed, hand coming up to cup your face, as if checking to make sure you’re real. You give him a gentle smile, and turn your head to press a kiss into his palm, your little way of dissuading his doubts.

He smiles, small and soft, before leaning in to kiss you once more. It starts out gently, but it doesn’t take long for his tongue to seek entrance into your mouth, tasting you, teasing you, wanting every bit that he can have. You match him just as fervently, hands skimming his sides, his chest, his belly, as your lips meet over and over. 

This is what he needs, what will make those terrible memories disappear from the forefront of his mind. He wants to get lost in you, wants every sense filled with you, until you’re all he knows. With you here, he doesn’t have to dwell on it, you’ll help him. You, _beautiful, perfect, incredible_ you. You’ll save him from those horrible memories, overwrite them with better ones. You can’t make it all better, he knows that, knows he has to work on these things himself, but… but you being here is enough to make a difference, enough to give him strength.

The kiss becomes more intense as the minutes drag on, and you wonder if it’s because there’s some residual emotion left in him from his earlier fright that he needs to work out of his system. If that is the case, you are more than happy to help, humming as you tangle your fingers into his hair and pull him impossibly closer.

Something stirs against you, filling out underneath the apex of your thighs. It begins to gently knock at your entrance, trapped against it, and you whimper with the need you feel suddenly overflowing from within you. You gyrate your hips, dragging your increasingly moistening labia against his ever-growing pillar, and Clyde groans in response, movements halting mid-kiss.

“Shit, Sweetness,” Clyde mumbles into your mouth before resuming his kisses, but not without bucking up into you first, reminding you who’s in charge. He breaks the kiss and pulls away just enough to meet your eyes, “You want this?” he growls, gripping your hip to grind you down onto him as he bucks up again.

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, lifting your hips to allow his now fully hard cock to escape out from underneath you, only to sit back down on it once it’s pressed up against his belly, smearing yourself along the length of it. 

“Mmm,” he rumbles, gripping your hip too tightly, holding you still, “Ya want my big, fat cock in yer cunt? Issat what you want, Sweetness? Issat why yer rubbin’ yerself all over me like a cat in heat?”

“Yesss,” you mewl, desperately trying to grind your hips down onto him again but he’s too strong, grip too firm. Clyde chuckles darkly at the way you’re struggling, leaning in to nip at your earlobe, “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You,” you gasp as his crooked teeth worry at your earlobe, “It’s yours, Clyde.”

“What’s mine?” he asks, pulling away to meet your eyes.

There’s a ghost of embarrassment nagging in the back of your head, but, looking deeply into Clyde’s golden eyes, wounded, worshipping, wanting, you can ignore it, “My pussy. My pussy is yours, Clyde. Only yours.”

The gold in his eyes disappears behind black as he absorbs what you’ve said, lust and satisfaction taking over his expression, “Mine,” he grounds out, full of pride and primal need, “You’re mine.”

And then his lips are on yours again and his hand is between your legs, two thick fingers are being pressed inside of your aching channel before they’re being withdrawn to swirl around your needy clit.

You whimper into his mouth as he assaults your senses, those fingers dipping back inside to work you open, his thumb reaching up to put pressure on your hardening nub. 

He breaks the kiss and removes his fingers to reach for the bedside table, pulling out a condom, “Gon’ ride my cock,” he growls, “bounce ya on it.”

He throws the condom down on the bed next to him and shoves his fingers back inside of you, working them until the squelch of your juices is audible. Removing them once again, he grabs the condom, ripping open the foil wrapper with his teeth and sliding the rubber down his length. When it has been rolled down all the way he keeps his hand wrapped around the base of his cock and holds it steady, meeting your eyes with a hunger that has your stomach clenching, “Gimme that pussy.”

You scramble to comply, aching with need, wanting nothing more than to impale yourself on his fat cock. You grip his shoulders, rise up on your knees, and sink yourself down his length. You’re still a little stretched out from earlier, so even though he didn’t give you three fingers you’re able to seat yourself on him without as much effort as it had taken last time, but the stretch is still painful. You whimper as he groans, both of you overwhelmed with sensation, frozen for a moment as you both adjust, holding eachother’s gazes and watching eachother’s expressions. 

You’re the first to move, desperate for friction, lifting up your hips to then grind them down against his. He growls, shifting himself on the bed until he is slightly reclined with his feet planted and knees bent, his hand possessively gripping your hip. You lean forward enough to rest your palms on his ribs, giving you the leverage you need so you can lift your hips and slam them back down again. 

In response, he bucks you so hard you nearly fall off.

You scramble to hold on to him, nails digging into his ribs as you try to keep from getting bucked off, trying to match Clyde’s thrusts, but he isn’t relenting, gritting his teeth as he begins to bounce you in his lap. Your tits jump with each connection and you see the way his eyes drift down to watch them, licking his lips before craning his neck up to capture a nipple in his mouth. You cry out as he bites and sucks until it begins to throw off his rhythm, releasing it with a pop as his head falls back down to the pillow.

He bounces you on his cock effortlessly, hitting you so deep you feel him in your womb, sparking mind-numbing pleasure that has your thoughts blanking out completely. Your eyes roll back into your head, mouth ajar, moaning incessantly at the incredible feeling. You’re dripping and drooling all over his dick, the squelch of it obscene. You struggle to keep yourself upright, to keep your hands planted on his ribs, his chest, but the pleasure is curling in your core, winding up tight, and it’s becoming so difficult to focus on anything but the feeling of his cock wrecking you.

When Clyde catches your eyes, they’re glazed and glassy. You are the portrait of pleasure, absolutely drunk on the feeling he’s giving you. His cock slips in and out of your tight channel with zero resistance, and Clyde wonders if he might be able to make you squirt if he keeps this up. He pulls you down until you’re chest to chest with him, and releases his grip on your hip to slide his hand in between your bodies. This would be so much easier if he had both of his hands, then he could keep you upright and watch your face… but he does his best not to dwell on that, angling his hips to keep up his driving pace as he finds your clit and begins swirling circles around it.

You cry out, arms wrapping around his neck as you hold on tight, trying to meet his thrusts, but the feeling is becoming overwhelming, too much, there’s a pressure building inside of you, but it isn’t from your impending orgasm. Your moans begin to turn panicked, you try to pull away, but Clyde does his best to keep you in place with his left arm, wrapping it around you, “s’alright Sweetness,” he coos, knowing what it is that has you worried.

But you’re scrambling now, heart pounding in your chest, unfamiliar with this impending feeling and fearing it, “C-Clyde,” you hiccup out in between thrusts, “I—I’m—I’m gonna— _Clyde_!”

“Let it go,” Clyde whispers into your ear as his fingers work faster and his cock digs deeper, “Let go fer me, Sweetness.”

It’s too much, too much, you can’t hold it in anymore, you can’t, but—but—with a panicked cry you release, shuddering as you squirt your pleasure all over Clyde’s lap. Your cunt contracts and flutters on Clyde’s throbbing cock, and you moan low and long at the utter bliss you feel, the sweet release combined with your orgasm has you collapsing down onto Clyde, not an ounce of strength remaining. 

Clyde groans deeply, his own orgasm looming over his head, “Good, so good, Sweetness, so good fer me, fuck—“ his hips begin to stutter as he loses his grip on his control. He’s soaked in your pleasure, cock being strangled by your convulsing cunt, it’s overwhelming, and as much as he wishes he could go on forever, it just feels too good. He removes his hand from your clit once he’s done working you through your orgasm and instead grabs a hold of your hip once more, pulling you down to meet his arrhythmic thrusts.

“I’mm gonna cum, darlin’, gonna cum in this sweet, juicy pussy. Who’s pussy’s this?” he growls right into your ear.

“Yours,” you weakly moan, “Your pussy Clyde, it’s yours.”

“Mine,” he repeats, thrusts slowing down but hitting deeper, harder, until Clyde is roaring, “Mine! Fuck!” Groaning and grunting as he buries himself to the hilt and empties his seed.

You feel him twitching inside of you as he fills the condom, moaning softly in response. Your body won’t do much else though, you can’t move, can’t think, every nerve is alight, and you continue to spasm with aftershocks.

As the twitching of his cock ceases Clyde’s legs go slack on the bed, and his arms wrap around you protectively. You nuzzle into his neck and arrange your arms so that they’re hugging the sides of his biceps and shoulders, and let your legs fall to either side of his waist. You are both a mess, fluids of all kinds coating both of you, but right now you couldn’t move even if you tried, and something tells you neither could Clyde. So even though you really do need to clean up, neither of you moves, instead opting to curl up and cuddle for a while until some of your strength returns.

“Sweetness?” Clyde whispers into your ear.

“Mmm?” you manage to hum, nuzzling further into his neck.

He kisses your head, nuzzling into your hair, “Thank you… for everything.”

“I love you too, Clyde,” you say, smiling into his neck, and giving it a kiss.


	23. Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clyde and Sweetness settle comfortably into their life together, but need to face one final obstacle before they can have their happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, here we are.
> 
> I would be lying if I said I wasn't somewhat dreading this day. Ending a story that I've put so much time and effort into is no easy task, I wasn't entirely sure if I could give a satisfying conclusion after the ride I've taken you all on, but I hope that this does it justice. 
> 
> I have left things still somewhat open, with full intention to continue the story of Clyde and Sweetness in one shots that will be snapshots of their life together, so if I didn't hit every note you were hoping for, fear not.
> 
> This is not the end, but merely an intermission.

It took two days for all of Boone County to find out that Clyde Logan was going steady with the city girl that owns the coffee shop.

Perhaps Clyde taking you to work that Monday, after having spent the night at his place, was an indicator. More than a few of your early morning customers witnessed his Pontiac pull up out front, and the two of you get out of it. He had stood a respectable distance from you as you opened the front door, but he did goose that juicy caboose of yours as you passed him to make your way behind the counter, which didn’t go unnoticed. All of your regulars greeted him, and not so subtly asked him what he was doing there so early, and why he just seemed to be sort of hanging out. Clyde didn’t exactly mince his words when he told them all that he was, “Here ta keep my girl company,” and your customers’ reactions solidified their understanding of what he meant.

Perhaps Jimmy and Mellie randomly stopping by together that day had some effect on this as well. The knowing look Mellie gave you as she approached the counter spoke volumes, and the whispered, “I’m so happy,” she breathed into your ear as she hugged you was enough to make you choke up. Jimmy clapped Clyde on the shoulder with a look of pride, the brothers communicating exclusively with their eyes before Clyde nodded and turned back to gaze at you. His eyes were warm, happy, grateful as they bored into yours, making your stomach do a little summersault as you forced yourself to not shyly avert your gaze. He was overwhelming, but—in the best possible way. Like submerging yourself into a warm bath: all-encompassing but welcomed.

Jimmy had hugged you as he and Mellie were leaving, but before letting you go he instead pulled back to face you with a wide grin stretched across his face, “Welcome to the Logans,” he said with a nod. It would stand to reason that perhaps the oldest and youngest Logan siblings then proceeded to spread the word about the good news after they left that day, to their friends, clients, and even random people on the street, if that night at Duck Tape was any indication.

That evening at the bar, when all of Boone County’s nosy residents made their way in to find out if what they’d heard was true, they were all met with a beaming Clyde who couldn’t say ‘yep’ to their inquiries fast enough. You merely rolled your eyes playfully at him from your seat at the bar, although you were more than happy to chime in with your own ‘yep’ when the person would inevitably turn to you for confirmation. You were thrilled of course, thrilled to be “going steady” with Clyde, but you weren’t used to this sort of attention, not about your personal life, and especially not from these folk. So it was a bit much, in the beginning. Fielding all sorts of nosy questions, knowing the whole town was in a tither over the two of you. 

Either way, no matter who or what instigated it, by Tuesday the entire town knew, and while you couldn’t care less who knew or who didn’t, Clyde could not be happier. He carried himself with such pride, such joy. He walked around with his chest puffed out and a little smile curling the corners of his lips. You’d think someone had just told him he’d won the lottery, and perhaps to Clyde, he did.

He took to bringing you to the café every morning, since you two spent every night together now. Of course, you hadn’t exactly _intended_ to spend every night together right off the bat like that, even if your offer to Clyde had been genuine. You had intended to continue taking things slow, as Clyde had asked of you, but…

That Monday night after having been interviewed by the entire town about your relationship status, you and Clyde attempted to part ways. He walked you out to your car after he’d closed up, giving you a toe curling kiss before letting you go, watching you as you drove away. The sight was heartbreaking, the way he stood in the middle of the lot watching you leave, looking utterly lost. It took all of your strength to press down on the gas and leave him behind. Every inch of you yearned to turn around, to hop out and climb into his arms, but—you had agreed to respect Clyde’s wishes to take things slow, and so you drove on. 

But Clyde only made it until 2am before he called you up at home, a mouth full of apologies that quickly shifted into pleas, “ –‘m sorry Sweetness, I know it’s late, an’ I know ya gotta be up early, and I don’ mean ta bother ya, but—can I come getcha? Please? I—I don’ wanna sleep here without ya…” And how could you say no to that? After all, you did promise you’d spent every night with him if he asked, and if Clyde was asking then that was still respecting his boundaries, right?

Either way, neither of you ever slept alone again.

Every day of those first few months together he’d spend the morning and early afternoon at Sip with you, only he no longer sat and expected to be served. He took to helping you out behind the counter, learning how to make those fancy coffees you had to whip up, finding that it wasn’t so different from bartending. He’d even started to help you with baking the goodies that filled the display case, and even though you both learned that he was much better at cooking than he was at baking, the help was still appreciated. 

Then in the afternoon he’d give you a kiss before heading off to open up the bar. You’d never be far behind, closing up shop at Sip around three or so hours later, to spend the evening sitting at the bar while he did his thing. You began to learn new things too, asking him to teach you how to make some basic drinks so you could help him out on busier nights, even though he insisted you didn’t have to lift a finger, “Ya work hard ‘nuff as it is Sweetness, please, jus’ relax.” But you could see the pride in his gaze when you made a patron happy with what you’d made, and he certainly didn’t seem to mind the extra opportunity to put his hand on you as he passed, or to press a quick kiss to some exposed bit of skin.

After he’d close up, he’d follow you home, sometimes spending the night at your place with him, and sometimes driving you back to his. In the beginning he preferred your place, it felt like _you_ , but as time went on, his place began to feel more like your place, as you added more of your little touches here and there, after much of his insistence. And after a while, both places were your places, and his place was wherever he got to be with you, so where you both slept no longer seemed to make much of a difference at all. 

But Clyde wanted more, as selfish as the voice in the back of his head whispered it was, he wanted even more than this, even more for _you_. So without asking, Clyde went house-hunting. One afternoon, after having left Sip, instead of going straight to the bar, he met with a realtor. He gave the realtor an idea of the things he knew you liked, the things he knew you wanted, and let the realtor give him some options. For weeks he went to look at different houses, trying to whittle down the options to what he felt were the best three out of the bunch. 

There was only one thing left to do after that, and so one Sunday afternoon as you two lounged on the couch together with books in hand, his stomach fluttering with butterflies, he asked you. 

“I was thinkin’,” he said, clearing his throat of the hitch it caught as the words left his mouth, so nervous he was beginning to sweat, “It’s—well it’s kinda silly that we keep ping-ponging between our places, and I thought that—well, Sweetness, I--,” huge honey eyes watched you carefully as he attempted to get the words out, all while you sat patiently, not completely sure where he was going with this but trying to look reassuring as he got it out. You gave his hand a squeeze, leaning in a little closer to him, trying to show him he had your full attention. He bit his lip, gathering himself before it slipped past his lips, low and soft, “I want us ta’ live together. Do you… wanna live together?”

The answer was a no-brainer, “Of course!” you exclaim without hesitation, facing him fully as you take his face in both of your hands, “Of course I want us to live together, Clyde, that would be wonderful!” 

Clyde was awestruck, but his surprise quickly melted into joy, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” you giggle at him, as if his unsureness was the most absurd thing you could imagine, before the wheels in your mind began to turn, trying to consider the logistics, “But… neither of our places are exactly _large_ ,” you grouse, turning away from him, beginning to think out loud, “who has the bigger bed? We’ll get rid of whoever’s is smaller. And we can decide which of us has the comfier couch. I can get rid of some clothes so I don’t need as much closet space, I have too much stuff anyway…” 

But your deliberation was cut short when, with a proud puff of his chest, Clyde delivered his solution, “I’ll buy us a house.” 

You gaped at his assertion before sputtering to interject, but Clyde was quicker, prepared, “I found some places ya might like, will ya come look at ‘em with me? If ya like one, it’s yers. _Ours._ ”

But you floundered, unwilling to concede to what he was implying, “Are you sure? That’s a big investment… I’ll help, Sip’s been doing good, and—“ 

But you trailed off as Clyde fixed you with a stern look, “Let me do this fer ya, Sweetness, I can handle it. I’m yer man and I plan on takin’ care o’ ya.” 

You wanted to fight him on it, he could see it in your eyes. You’re a strong, independent woman, you didn’t need his help, he knew it, you knew it, but he silently begged you to let him do this, let him have this, let him feel like a real man, like a provider, let him _give_ you this. 

You bit your tongue, instead taking his hands into your own, giving them a reassuring squeeze as you leaned in for a kiss, “Yes,” you breathed into his lips, “let’s do it.” 

At your confirmation, Clyde’s heart soared clean out of his body, passed between his lips and right into your own, nestling deep inside your chest, beside yours, where it belonged. Not even an hour later he’d already phoned the realtor to ask how soon he could set you up with appointments to see his three chosen houses, barely containing his excitement at the prospect that had now been laid before him.

You smiled broad and wide at the sight of your man’s excitement, knowing how much this meant to him, and loving him for it. You could have pushed, offered to put down half of the down payment, offered to cover half of the mortgage payments, but you also knew your Clyde well enough at this point to know how much it meant to him to be able to provide for you. You weren’t exactly the old-fashioned type, you hadn’t necessarily planned on being the kind of woman who needed taking care of, but… you knew what it meant to Clyde. And that was enough to make you let it go, if doing this for you would mean as much to him as you knew it would.

Although you _did_ have a few questions about when all of this house-hunting took place, but… you’d save those for another time.

The three houses the realtor had shown you were beautiful, of course. Large and spacious, ready to be filled with comfy furniture and happy memories. All of them sported large backyards, which Clyde specified could easily be outfitted with an outdoor theater setup, much to your excitement. All of them contained multiple bedrooms, there was plenty of room for your friends and family to stay over when they came to visit, and even room if Jimmy or Mellie wanted to spend the night. 

The realtor also pointed out the large finished basements which were perfect for a children’s play area, and which had Clyde going fire-engine red as he meekly glanced over at you to see your reaction. You smiled of course, albeit a little shyly, because while the prospect of having a family with Clyde was an idea that you liked, wanted, it was still a bit early in the relationship. You knew what that look meant though, the way his honey eyes watched you so closely, searching your expression to gauge your reaction, and so you smiled a little wider, a little more reassuringly. It was early, yes, but… some day. Some day you’d talk about it, and some day would turn into today, and when today came you wouldn’t mind calling Clyde your husband, calling him the father of your children. You wouldn’t mind it one bit.

In the end, you two decided on a house that fell somewhat in between your former homes, pushed back from the road and surrounded by woods, with a large backyard that Clyde wasted no time setting up to your liking, and a big, beautiful kitchen with large windows that overlooked the mountains and a quaint little breakfast nook that the two of you loved to curl up in together as you digested your meal. You loved curving in to the crook of his arm and resting your hand on his belly, warm and full with the labors of your love, chatting about nothing and everything. The place was so big that all of your worries about combining your belongings turned out to be completely ill-founded, much to Clyde’s joyous pride and your relief. He gave you free-reign to decorate the place however you saw fit, although you did insist that he turn at least one of the extra bedrooms into a place special for him.

He turned it into a library.

This sunny May afternoon in your backyard, eight months since that fateful day you first met, Clyde is flipping burgers on the grill while Jimmy chats his ear off about the upcoming football season, ice cold beer in hand. You’re bustling around with Mellie and Sylvie, bringing out bowls and platters of yummy things you spent all of last night and this morning preparing. Mellie had been over to help, and Clyde had attempted to assist, of course, but it had still been a lot of work. All of it was worth it though, as you stopped to look around the yard. Some family and friends of yours had come down for a long weekend visit, intermixed with Clyde’s siblings, their significant others, and even Joe Bang’s brothers. Sadie had made fast friends with some fellow youngsters that had been brought along with your crew, much to the Logan siblings’ delight, and to your relief. It was hard on Sadie being the only kid in the family, so it was nice to see her having a good time at a family function for once instead of being stuck with the adults.

As you finish scanning the yard your eyes finally land on Clyde, who seems to sense your gaze, meeting it with his own. His golden eyes are warm as he smiles at you, giving you a little nod of acknowledgement, before those same eyes begin wandering up and down your body appreciatively. You bite your lip and shake your head with a roll of your eyes, as if to say, _what a hound dog!_ To which Clyde chuckles softly with a shrug that screamed of a very innocent yet not-so-innocent, _what?_

Jimmy, who had been mid-sentence, stops to turn and follow Clyde’s gaze, landing on you. He laughs, clapping Clyde on the shoulder and saying something to him that you can’t hear, but that has Clyde blushing crimson. Mellie calls out for you, which prompts you to return to the house and grab the last of the food, but not before sending one last longing look in Clyde’s direction.

As the freshly grilled burgers are plattered and set on the table, and the hungry folks at the gathering begin to descend upon the feast, Jimmy gives a whistle, “Let’s have a toast!” he shouts, getting everyone’s attention. Everyone nods and gives little noises of ascent, lifting their glasses and bottles, which prompts him to continue, “to family, new an’ old, whether found or blood. Cheers!” With a hoot from the crowd and a cacophony of clinking glasses, everyone turns to give hugs and kisses to the people around them, even the ones they’d only just met. It’s a wonderful sight, seeing your two worlds coming together like this, one that has a warmth blooming in your chest that has you scrambling to get to your man. Clyde must’ve had the same idea, because it isn’t a moment before he’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you into him, wrapping one arm around you while the other tilts your face up to his, “To family,” he repeats with a smile as your arms snake around his neck.

“To family,” you reply as the smile grows across your face, leaning up on tip toes to bring yourself closer to those plush pink lips.

“An’ happy annivers’ry to the world’s greatest heist!” Sam Bang exclaims with a raise of his beer bottle, to the confusion of most of the guests, including you. You turn to look at him before looking back at Clyde quizzically, “What heist is he talking about?” But Clyde, pale as a sheet, stutters out an, “ ‘t’s nothin’, somethin’ that happened ‘round here a while back. Lot’s a folks treat it like a big deal, is all,” before glancing over to Jimmy, who promptly shoots a withering look at Sam. Clyde watches as you see it all, lips practically blue by the time your eyes return to him, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. “Clyde?” you ask, dropping one of your hands to his face, rubbing at his now clammy skin. 

“We’ll—talk about it later,” he breathes out resignedly, eyes dropping from your gaze before reluctantly pulling away from you. You’re stuck to the spot, unsure of what just happened, but knowing that there is a story you need to be told. Fear, anxiety, nervousness mixes in your stomach, but you swallow it down, instead focusing on the party, your guests, your combined family. Fearing what kind of secret Clyde might be hiding, when all this time you thought there were no more secrets to keep.

Clyde steers clear of you after that, although you often catch him staring at you from a distance, big honey eyes wide with longing and sadness. But he is always prompt to look away, busy himself with putting more food on the grill, or with his now hushed and serious conversation with Jimmy, if the tones of their voices were any indication. Even Mellie makes her way over to them at one point, fixing Clyde with a look that could peel the paint off of a barn. You distract yourself by catching up with your visiting guests, enjoying being filled in on all of their goings-ons, but hopelessly distracted by whatever has the Logan siblings in a tither.

It feels like ages pass before the barbecue finally winds down, your guests heading for their temporary lodgings in your house’s many rooms, all stuffed with food, some of them even tipsy from too many of Clyde’s concoctions. In the end, all that’s left are you, Clyde, Jimmy and Mellie, standing in the kitchen washing dishes and packaging up leftovers in silence thick enough to be cut. It’s Mellie who finally breaks it, eyebrows drawn and lips turned in a frown as she wraps you in a tight hug, “Please don’t think less of us,” she whispers, “especially not of him. He was just bein’ a good brother, that’s all.” You’re still just as confused, but you nod anyway, squeezing her tight before letting her go. She gives you one last mournful look before heading for the door, Jimmy not far behind her, but not before he turns to you with his own parting words, “Just let ‘im tell you the whole story first, and—all of it was my idea. Just remember that, alright?” You nod, the fear boiling in your gut reaching a fever pitch as Jimmy turns to go, leaving only you and Clyde in the kitchen.

Clyde’s back is turned to you, his head dropped low, his hand gripping the counter with white knuckles when he begins to speak, “About three months before you an’ I met, a couple of us—well—we robbed Charlotte Motor Speedway.”

The silence is deafening, as you process what Clyde has just said, unsure of where to even begin. Clyde, letting the unease finally get the best of him, turns to face you, needing to see your reaction. He’s met with your surprise, eyes wide and mouth agape, as you push out the only question you can think to ask, “Why?”

“Well,” Clyde begins with a swallow, “It’s a bit of a long story.” But you don’t move, and so Clyde pushes on, “Jimmy’d been workin’ down in the mines under the Speedway, patchin’ up some sinkholes that’d sprung up. They fired him on account of his knee bein’ a pre-existin’ condition that he hadn’t listed in his paperwork. That night, he came by the bar, when one of the NASCAR driver’s managers came by and made a fuss, made fun of—made a fuss, and Jimmy’d—well, he didn’t like what the manager had to say, so we got into a fight with ‘im and I guess that was just the last straw for Jimmy. The next day, he told me ‘bout his plan to rob the speedway. He needed my help, an’—I agreed, as did Mellie, the Bang brothers, an’ a few other folks. Nobody got hurt, an’ we gave a lot of money to the folks who helped us, even if they didn’t know they helped us. The speedway didn’t suffer neither, their insurance took care of the loses. Although, in order to pull it off… I did have ta’ get myself sent down to Monroe County Correctional Facility for 90 days. But it didn’t effect me much, a small price to pay. In the end, Jimmy’d gotten ‘imself enough money to buy a house closer to his daughter, pay his child support, got me this new arm… it all turned out alright, everyone benefitted, even the speedway. But…” he still doesn’t meet your eyes, hasn’t for the duration of his story, gaze trained on the floor, “I know it doesn’t make it right. I know—and—I’d understand if—it meant ya didn’t want ta be with me anymore, on account o’ me bein’ a criminal.”

He finishes with a slow exhale, resigning himself to his fate, but all you can do is gawk at him, “All of this is true?” you ask with an incredulous whisper, to which Clyde simply nods, head hanging limp.

“That’s…” Clyde visibly braces himself as you begin, preparing for the verbal lashing he deserves for his life of crime, but, “UNBELIEVABLE!” you shout. Clyde cringes, curling in on himself, until you continue, “How the hell did you pull that off? That’s unreal! You have to tell me more, how did you do it?”

Clyde is visibly stunned when he once again meets your eyes, searching for your ire, your disappoint, and only finding wonder, surprise, curiosity. His mouth gapes like a fish, grasping at what to say, not having anticipated this response, which prompts you to approach him, slowly, hands outstretched, until he leans fully into your embrace.

“Thank you for telling me,” you murmur into his ear as he collapses into you, the weight of relief causing him to sink into your arms. He nods into the crook of your neck, arms coming up to encircle you tightly, too tight, how could you be okay with this? How could you still want him, even knowing this?

“But really,” you start, pulling back to find his eyes, “you have to tell me how you managed to pull that off.”

A small smile creeps up the corners of his lips, relief written plain across his face, “I better wait for Jimmy and Mellie before I tell ya all that, they’ll wanna be there to tell their parts.”

You smile and nod, pulling him back in to you. It certainly isn’t what you were expecting, you’d heard about the heist before meeting Clyde, the locals had come in to Sip chatting about it on more than one occasion, calling the whole affair ‘Oceans 7-11’ and unable to wrap their minds around why the culprits gave the money back. Clearly they hadn’t, at least not all of it, and you were curious to find out more about it. But the time would come soon enough, now that everything was out in the open. For now, you focused on holding your man close, feeling the relief washing over him in waves. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya,” he mumbles into your hair, nuzzling into it, “I thought—you wouldn’t wanna be with a criminal.”

“I don’t know,” you reply playfully, “I think it’s kind of sexy, I’m dating a _bad boy._ ”

A growl rumbles deep in Clyde’s chest at your words, his arms squeezing you that much tighter, “Oh yeah?” he rasps.

“Mhm,” you nod, nipping at his earlobe, whispering seductively, “ _my bad boy._ ”

His fingers dig into your hip, pressing your hips into his crotch where his cock has begun to stir, “We better sleep in the basement tonight,” he growls.

“Why’s that?” you ask innocently, sucking his earlobe between your lips, pinning it between your teeth.

“’cause I don’ want all yer family an’ friends ta hear the dickin’ I’m ‘bout ta give ya.”

You can’t help the smirk that curls up your lips, “I thought bad boys didn’t care about that sort of stuff.”

In one swift motion Clyde has you up and slung over his shoulder, grabbing your ass roughly as he makes his way towards the basement stairs, “I’ll show ya what bad boys care ‘bout Sweetness, don’t you worry.”

You squeal and giggle as your mountain man manhandles you, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake the whole house, although something tells you Clyde is about to make that task _extremely_ difficult. He carries you into the basement, gently depositing you onto the couch, the only piece of furniture in the whole basement aside from some weights and an old TV. Neither you nor Clyde has yet to make a move to do anything in particular with the basement, and so it stands to reason you both have the same silent want in mind, even if neither of you is perhaps ready to give voice to it just yet.

Clyde climbs over you, hovering above you, but winces as he puts pressure on his metal arm, shifting his weight. For you, everything stops, immediately shifting into concern, “Is it bothering you?” you ask as you lift a hand to delicately caress at the place where flesh meets metal. He hesitates a moment, before shaking his head, “I’m fine.” But the discomfort is clear on his face. He’s had it on all day, from the minute he woke up until now, it was bound to be bothering him. “Take it off,” you offer gently, “you shouldn’t keep it on if it hurts.”

He stares at you, into you, as he debates your offer. In return, you do your best to appear open and earnest. Clyde didn’t always wear the prosthetic, you’d seen him plenty of times without it, but he was still tight-lipped about it. He wouldn’t say if it was bothering him, but you could see it in the pinch of his brow or the downward curl of his lip. He wouldn’t talk about the things he couldn’t do, with or without it on, but you learned to preempt the things he needed help with, thanks to your own observations and a little advice from Mellie, who didn’t want to see him get his pride hurt. But Clyde needed to know that, two hands or one, you loved him just the same, and it was about time you made that clear to him.

Clyde drops his head, a sign that he has conceded, carefully removing the prosthetic and setting it down on the floor beside the couch. When he returns to hover over you it’s easy to see how red and irritated the skin around his scar has become, but while normally he would apply a special cream he’d been given to help soothe the ache, that cream was all the way upstairs in your master bathroom. So instead you do something you’ve never done, you grasp his forearm in your gentle hands and run delicate fingertips over his gnarled skin.

Clyde sucks in a breath that doesn’t leave his lungs, not even as you lean up to plant soft kisses in the wake of your touches. Carefully, you run your thumbs along the muscles of his forearm, trying to ease any tension, not knowing really if what you’re doing is even helping, but hoping your message is made clear all the same.

Clyde flashes back to a dream, had so long ago of a time just like this, where you saw all of him, even the parts he didn’t think were all that great, and loved on him, loved on every inch of him, until nothing hurt ever again. He can’t bring himself to breathe as he watches you, feels you, gently soothing an ache that will never heal, wondering what he did to deserve an angel like you. Someone who has accepted everything about him, the good and the bad, and loved him all the more for it. He’s told you everything, shown you every secret, was ready to watch you go, to leave him behind and move on with the life you deserve, and yet… here you are, soothing his aching heart.

With a shuddering exhale he whispers, “I love you,” as he crumples onto you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and peppering it with kisses.

You release his forearm, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso before replying, “I love you too, Clyde.”

And even if Clyde could have imagined what the happiest moment of his life might look like, he couldn’t ever have imagined this, not in a million years, not for him.

As the emotion of the moment gently subsides, Clyde’s kisses turn into needy little nips of your tender flesh with his teeth. You’ve given him more than he could ever hope to have, now there is only one place he wants to be, and that’s joined with you. 

You know what those little nipping bites mean, and with a devious little smile you tug at his hair, pulling him back to face you, “Kiss me, bad boy,” you whisper seductively, and Clyde doesn’t hesitate to comply, ravaging your mouth with his plush lips, crooked teeth, needy tongue. A greedy hand traces the contours of your side, pinching and grabbing at your dips and folds, egging you on to reach eagerly for his belt, needing to get to what you want him to give you. There isn’t the usual slow build up this time, because as much as Clyde would love to eat your pussy every single day, he just doesn’t have the patience in this moment and neither do you. Clothes are pulled and pushed aside with fumbling hands until enough is bared. Clyde settles the head of his cock at your already dripping entrance, gripping it at the base and rubbing it along your slit to coat the head in some of your slick juice. You two had stopped using condoms a while ago, having decided to both get tested and for you to begin using a contraceptive instead. It was a great decision, because the feel of Clyde’s cock, unobstructed, was truly sinful. And Clyde felt the same way about getting to feel _you_.

You whine, your own hands slinking down to spread yourself open for him, needing him inside of you, and Clyde debates the torture he could inflict. He could finger you, play with your clit, make you writhe and beg, but… he needs you, needs the warm, wet embrace of your cunt, and so with your foreheads pressed together and eyes locked he pushes inside.

You gasp, fighting the urge to close your eyes, even as the feel of him stretching you open overwhelms you. Even after all this time, it never gets easier to take him, but you aren’t complaining. He’s big, but he knows how to use what God gave him, and right now he demonstrates just that, the slow slides he starts with to allow you to adjust to him quickly turning into powerful thrusts.

You bounce on the couch, gasping and moaning as he pistons into you, “ _Ohh fuck,_ you fuck like a bad boy.”

Clyde’s penchant for dirty talk had sunk its claws into you, and he loved it, loved the filthy things that came out of your mouth when he was spearing you on his cock, “Yeah, and I’m gonna keep fuckin’ ya until ya can’t remember what fuckin’ a _good_ boy ever felt like. Now sing fer me Sweetness, sing for yer bad boy.”

And sing you do, moaning and whining as he changes angles, hits deeper, finds that special spot in you and strikes it over and over until your insides are on fire, tied up in a knot, ready to explode.

He licks his thumb, bringing it down to your clit, pressing and rubbing circles that have you lifting off of the couch, “Cum fer me, cum on yer bad boy’s dick, wanna feel ya squeeze me.”

Your moan hits a crescendo, cracking at its peak, before rolling low from your dropped open mouth, your entire body seizing with pleasure, toes curling, head falling back as your orgasm washes over you.

Clyde curses, deep and unhinged, his thrusts getting sloppy as he succumbs to the feeling of your tight, wet heat squeezing him for all he’s worth. It feels like heaven, like nothing else he’s ever known, and when he begins to cum, he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, wanting every drop to stay where it belongs.

As you both come down from the pleasurable high, Clyde shifting you both around until it’s you who’s on top of him, you’re both quiet, nothing but the sound of your combined labored breathing as it returns to normal filling the air. Your head is in the perfect place to hear the strong thump of his heart, and you let it lull you into relaxation. You must drift off to sleep at some point, because you wake to Clyde carefully carrying you up to your bedroom, hushing you gently when he feels you stir in his arms, “Go back to sleep Sweetness,” he whispers, “It’s late.” The last thing you remember is Clyde stripping you bare and tucking you under the sheets, before morning came and woke you fully.

A day later your guests all began their journeys home, well wishes and half-formed return plans fresh on their tongues as you and Clyde waved goodbye from your front porch. Tomorrow you’d re-open Sip, having closed it these last four days so you could be with your guests. Clyde wouldn’t come with you though, you all realized a few months in to your relationship that the two of you were basically only getting all of four hours of sleep if you kept spending eachother’s entire shifts together, so with heavy hearts you had begun to limit your time. Clyde held out, insisting he be there to open with you, but after almost falling asleep behind the wheel on his way home from Duck Tape one night, without you there now to keep him up, you’d begged him to stay home while you went off to work. He conceded, although he did still come by for a late breakfast every day before heading to the bar, and you still spent a few hours at the bar every night before heading home to go to bed.

Some things just couldn’t change, Clyde would be damned if he gave up a single precious moment with you. Life was too short, too sad, too painful, to spend it anywhere else, with anyone else, but you.

And it was bliss, this life you and your Clyde had built together. Neither of you would ever be alone again, and neither of you would have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for reading my story. For every kudos, every comment, every tumblr message, every like. Thank you for using your time to read this, thank you for supporting me, thank you for sticking around. 
> 
> Thank you for reminding me why I had wanted to be a writer, once upon a time. Looks like I've still got it, eh? lol
> 
> Thank you for giving me the confidence to see this through.
> 
> Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters depicted from Logan Lucky.**


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